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DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 



A ROMANCE 

BY 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

EDITED, WITH PREFACE AND NOTES 
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE 


BOSTON 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
1884 




Copyright* ♦1882, 

Br JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 

All rights reserved. 


By Transfer 


' w 



The University Press^ Cambridge: 
Electrotyped and Printed by John Wilson & Son. 


TO 


MR. AND MRS. GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP, 

antJ ©augf}ter 

OF 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 


This Romance is Dedicated 

BY 


THE EDITOR, 



PREFACE. 


PEEFACE generally begins with a truism ; and 



I may set out with the admission that it is not 
always expedient to bring to light the posthumous 
work of great writers. A man generally contrives 
to publish, during his lifetime, quite as much as the 
public has time or inclination to read ; and his sur- 
viving friends are apt to show more zeal than dis- 
cretion in dragging forth from his closed desk such 
undeveloped offspring of his mind as he himself had 
left to silence. Literature has never been redundant 
with authors who sincerely undervalue their own pro- 
ductions ; and the sagacious critics who maintain that 
what of his own an author condemns must be doubly 
damnable, are, to say the least of it, as often likely to 
be right as wrong. 

Beyond these general remarks, however, it does not 
seem necessary to adopt an apologetic attitude. There 
is nothing in the present volume which any one pos- 
sessed of brains and cultivation will not be thankful 


vi 


PREFACE. 


to read. The appreciation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 
writings is more intelligent and wide-spread than it 
used to be ; and the later development of our national 
literature has not, perhaps, so entirely exhausted our 
resources of admiration as to leave no welcome for even 
the less elaborate work of a contemporary of Dickens 
and Thackeray. As regards “ Doctor Grimshawe’s 
Secret,” — the title which, for lack of a better, has been 
given to this Eomance, — it can scarcely be pronounced 
deficient in either elaboration or profundity. Had 
Mr. Hawthorne written out the story in every part 
to its full dimensions, it could not have failed to rank 
among the greatest of his productions. He had looked 
forward to it as to the crowning achievement of his 
literary career. In the Preface to ‘‘ Our Old Home ” 
he alludes to it as a work into which he proposed to 
convey more of various modes of truth than he could 
have grasped by a direct effort. But circumstances 
prevented him from perfecting the design which had 
been before his mind for seven years, and upon the 
shaping of which he bestowed more thought and labor 
than upon anything else he had undertaken. The 
successive and consecutive series of notes or studies * 

* These studies, extracts from which will be published in one of 
our magazines, are hereafter to be added, in their complete form, to 
the Appendix of this volume. 


PREFACE. 


vii 


which, he wrote for this Eomance would of themselves 
make a small volume, and one of autobiographical as 
well as literary interest. There is no other instance, 
that I happen to have met with, in which a writer’s 
thought reflects itself upon paper so immediately and 
sensitively as in these studies. To read them is to 
look into the man’s mind, and see its quality and 
action. The penetration, the subtlety, the tenacity ; 
the stubborn gripe which he lays upon his subject, 
like that of Hercules upon the slippery Old Man of 
the Sea ; the clear and cool common-sense, controlling 
the audacity of a rich and ardent imagination ; the 
humorous gibes and strange expletives wherewith he 
ridicules, to himself, his own failure to reach his goal; 
the immense patience with which — again and again, 
and yet again — he tries back,” throwing the topic 
into fresh attitudes, and searching it to the marrow 
with a gaze so piercing as to be terrible ; — all this 
gives an impression of power, of resource, of energy, 
of mastery, that exhilarates the reader. ,So many 
inspired prophets of Hawthorne have arisen of late, 
that the present writer, whose relation to the great 
Eomancer is a filial one merely, may be excused for 
feeling some embarrassment in submitting his own 
uninstructed judgments to competition with theirs. 
It has occurred to him, however, that these undress 


viii 


PREFACE. 


rehearsals of the author of ^'The Scarlet Letter” might 
afford entertaining and even profitable reading to the 
later generation of writers whose pleasant fortune it is 
to charm one another and the public. It would appear 
that this author, in his preparatory work at least, has 
ventured in some manner to disregard the modern 
canons which debar writers from betraying towards 
their creations any warmer feeling than a cultured 
and critical indifference : nor was his interest in hu- 
man nature such as to confine him to the dissection of 
the moral epidermis of shop-girls and hotel-boarders. 
On the contrary, we are presented with the spectacle 
of a Titan, baring his arms and plunging heart and soul 
into the arena, there to struggle for death or victory 
with the superb phantoms summoned to the confiict 
by his own genius. The men of new times and new 
conditions will achieve their triumphs in new ways ; 
but it may still be worth while to consider the meth- 
ods and materials of one who also, in his own fashion, 
won and wore the laurel of those who know and can 
portray the human heart. 

But let us return to the Eomance, in whose 
clear though shadowy atmosphere the thunders and 
throes of the preparatory struggle are inaudible and 
invisible, save as they are implied in the fineness of 
substance and beauty of form of the artistic struc- 


PREFACE. 


LX 

ture. The story is divided into two parts, the scene 
of the first being laid in America ; that of the second, 
in England. Internal evidence of various kinds goes 
to show that the second part was the first written ; or, 
in other words, that the present first part is a rewriting 
of an original first part, afterwards discarded, and of 
which the existing second part is the continuation. 
The two parts overlap, and it shall be left to the inge- 
nuity of critics to detect the precise point of junction. 
In rewriting the first part, the author made sundry 
minor alterations in the plot and characters of the 
story, which alterations were not carried into the sec- 
ond part. It results from this that the manuscript 
presents various apparent inconsistencies. In tran- 
scribing the work for the press, these inconsistent sen- 
tences and passages have been withdrawn from the 
text and inserted in the Appendix ; or, in a few un- 
important instances, omitted altogether. In other re- 
spects, the text is printed as the author left it, with 
the exception of the names of the characters. In the 
manuscript each personage figures in the course of 
the narrative under from three to six different names. 
This difficulty has been met by bestowing upon each 
of the dramatis personce the name which last identi- 
fied him to the author's mind, and keeping him to it 
throughout the volume. 


X 


PREFACE, 


The story, as a story, is complete as it stands ; it 
has a beginning, a middle, and an end. There is no 
break in the narrative, and the legitimate conclusion 
is reached. To say that the story is complete as a 
work of art, would be quite another matter. It lacks 
balance and proportion. Some characters and inci- 
dents are portrayed with minute elaboration ; others, 
perhaps not less important, are merely sketched in 
outline. Beyond a doubt it was the author’s purpose 
to rewrite the entire work from the first page to the 
last, enlarging it, deepening it, adorning it with every 
kind of spiritual and physical beauty, and rounding 
out a moral worthy of the noble materials. But these 
last transfiguring touches to Aladdin’s Tower were 
never to be given ; and he has departed, taking with 
him his Wonderful Lamp. Nevertheless there is great 
splendor in the structure as we behold it. The char- 
acter of old Doctor Grimshawe, and the picture of 
his surroundings, are hardly surpassed in vigor by 
anything their author has produced ; and the dusky 
vision of the secret chamber, which sends a myste- 
rious shiver through the tale, seems to be unique 
even in Hawthorne. 

There have been included in this volume photo- 
graphic reproductions of certain pages of the original 
manuscript of Doctor Grimshawe, selected at random. 


PREFACE, 


XI 


upon which those ingenious persons whose convic- 
tions are in advance of their instruction are cordially- 
invited to try their teeth ; for it has been maintained 
that Mr. Hawthorne’s handwriting was singularly 
legible. The present writer possesses specimens of 
Mr. Hawthorne’s chirography at various ages, from 
boyhood until a day or two before his death. Like 
the handwriting of most men, it was at its best 
between the twenty-fifth and the fortieth years of 
life ; and in some instances it is a remarkably beauti- 
ful type of penmanship. But as time went on it 
deteriorated, and, while of course retaining its ele- 
mentary characteristics, it became less and less easy to 
read, especially in those writings which were intended 
solely for his own perusal. As with other men of 
sensitive organization, the mood of the hour, a good 
or a bad pen, a ready or an obstructed flow of thought, 
would all be reflected in the formation of the written 
letters and words. In the manuscript of the fragmen- 
tary sketch which has just been published in a mag- 
azine, which is written in an ordinary commonplace- 
book, with ruled pages, and in which the author had 
not yet become possessed with the spirit of the story 
and characters, the handwriting is deliberate and 
clear. In the manuscript of Doctor Grimshawe’s 
Secret,” on the other hand, which was written almost 


XU 


PREFACE. 


immediately after the other, but on unruled paper, 
and when the writer’s imagination was warm and 
eager, the chirography is for the most part a compact 
mass of minute cramped hieroglyphics, hardly to be 
deciphered save by flashes of inspiration. The mat- 
ter is not, in itself, of importance, and is alluded to 
here only as having been brought forward in connec- 
tion with other insinuations, with the notice of which 
it seems unnecessary to soil these pages. Indeed, 
were I otherwise disposed. Doctor Grimshawe him- 
self would take the words out of my mouth; his 
speech is far more poignant and eloquent than mine. 
In dismissing this episode, I will take the liberty to 
observe that it appears to indicate a spirit in our age 
less sceptical than is commonly supposed, — belief in 
miracles being still possible, provided only the miracle 
be a scandalous one. 

It remains to tell how this Eomance came to be 
published. It came into my possession (in the ordi- 
nary course of events) about eight years ago. I had 
at that time no intention of publishing it ; and when, 
soon after, I left England to travel on the Continent, 
the manuscript, together with the bulk of my library, 
was packed and stored at a London repository, and 
was not again seen by me until last summer, when I 
unpacked it in this city. I then finished the perusal 


PREFACE. 


xiii 

of it, and, finding it to be practically complete, I 
re-resolved to print it in connection with a biogra- 
phy of Mr. Hawthorne which I had in preparation. 
But upon further consideration it was decided to 
publish the Eomance separately ; and I herewith 
present it to the public, with my best wishes for 
their edification. 

JULIAN HAWTHOENE. 


New York, November 21, 1882. 







DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET. 


CHAPTER I 

A LONG time ago,^ in a town with which I used to 
be familiarly acquainted, there dwelt an elderly per- 
son of grim aspect, known by the name and title of 
Doctor Grimshawe,^ whose household consisted of a 
remarkably pretty and vivacious boy, and a perfect 
rosebud of a girl, two or three years younger than 
he, and an old maid-of-all-work, of strangely mixed 
breed, crusty in temper and wonderfully sluttish in 
attire.^ It might be partly owing to this handmaid- 
en’s characteristic lack of neatness (though prima- 
rily, no doubt, to the grim Doctor’s antipathy to 
broom, brush, and dusting-cloths) that the house — 
at least in such portions of it as any casual visitor 
caught a glimpse of — was so overlaid with dust, 
that, in lack of a visiting card, you might write your 
name with your forefinger upon the tables ; and so 
hung with cobwebs that they assumed the appear- 
ance of dusky upholstery. 

It grieves me to add an additional touch or two 

to the reader’s disagreeable impression of Doctor 
1 


2 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


Grimshawe’s residence, by confessing that it stood 
in a shabby by-street, and cornered on a graveyard, 
with which the house communicated by a back door ; 
so that with a hop, skip, and jump from the thresh- 
old, across a flat tombstone, the two children^ were 
in the daily habit of using the dismal cemetery as 
their playground. In their graver moods they spelled 
out the names and learned by heart doleful verses 
on the headstones ; and in their merrier ones (which 
were much the more frequent) they chased butter- 
flies and gathered dandelions, played hide-and-seek 
among the slate and marble, and tumbled laughing 
over the grassy mounds which were too eminent for 
the short legs to bestride. On the whole, they were 
the better for the graveyard, and its legitimate in- 
mates slept none the worse for the two children’s 
gambols and shrill merriment overhead. Here were 
old brick tombs wdth curious sculptures on them, and 
quaint gravestones, some of which bore puffy little 
cherubs, and one or two others the effigies of eminent 
Puritans, wrought out to a button, a fold of the ruff, 
and a wrinkle of the skull-cap; and these frowned 
upon the two children as if death had not made them 
a whit more genial than they were in life. But the 
children were of a temper to be more encouraged by 
the good-natured smiles of the puffy cherubs, than 
frightened or disturbed by the sour Puritans. 

This graveyard (about which we shall say not a 
word more than may sooner or later be needful) was 
the most ancient in the town. The clay of the origi- 


DOCTOR GRIMSIIAWE^& SECRET. 


3 


nal settlers had been incorporated with the soil; 
those stalwart Englishmen of the Puritan epoch, 
whose immediate ancestors had been planted forth 
with succulent grass and daisies for the sustenance 
of the parson’s cow, round the low-battle mented 
Norman church towers in the villages of the father- 
land, had here contributed their rich Saxon mould to 
tame and Christianize the wild forest earth of the new 
world. In this point of view — as holding the bones 
and dust of the primeval ancestor — the cemetery 
was more English than anything else in the neigh- 
borhood, and might probably have nourished English 
oaks and English elms, and whatever else is of Eng- 
lish growth, without that tendency to spindle up- 
wards and lose their sturdy breadth, which is said 
to be the ordinary characteristic both of human 
and vegetable productions when transplanted hither. 
Here, at all events, used to be some specimens of 
common English garden flowers,, which could not be 
accounted for, — unless, perhaps, they had sprung 
from some English maiden’s heart, where the intense 
love of those homely things, and regret of them in the 
foreign land, had conspired together to keep their 
vivifying principle, and cause its growth after the 
poor girl was buried. Be that as it might, in this 
grave had been hidden from sight many a broad, bluff 
visage of husbandman, who had been taught to 
plough among the hereditary furrows that had been 
ameliorated by the crumble of ages : much had these 
sturdy laborers grumbled at the great roots that 


4 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


obstructed their toil in these fresh acres. Here, too, 
the sods had covered the faces of men known to 
history, and reverenced when not a piece of distin- 
guishable dust remained of them ; personages whom 
tradition told about ; and here, mixed up with suc- 
cessive crops of native-born Americans, had been 
ministers, captains, matrons, virgins good and evil, 
tough and tender, turned up and battened down by 
the sexton’s spade, over and over again; until every 
blade of grass had its relations with the human 
brotherhood of the old town. A hundred and fifty 
years was sufficient to do this ; and so much time, at 
least, had elapsed since the first hole was dug among 
the difficult roots of the forest trees, and the first little 
hillock of all these green beds was piled up. 

Thus rippled and surged, with its hundreds of little 
billows, the old graveyard about the house which 
cornered upon it ; it made the street gloomy, so that 
people did not altogether like to pass along the high 
wooden fence that shut it in ; and the old house itself, 
covering ground which else had been sown thickly 
with buried bodies, partook of its dreariness, because 
it seemed hardly possible that the dead people should 
not get up out of their graves and steal in to warm 
themselves at this convenient fireside. But I never 
heard that any of them did so ; nor were the children 
ever startled by spectacles of dim horror in the night- 
time, but were as cheerful and fearless as if no grave 
had ever been dug. They were of that class of chil- 
dren whose material seems fresh, not taken at second 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


5 


hand, full of disease, conceits, whims, and weaknesses, 
that have already served many people’s turns, and 
been moulded up, with some little change of combi- 
nation, to serve the turn of some poor spirit that 
could not get a better case. 

So far as ever came to the present writer’s knowl- 
edge, there was no whisper of Doctor Grimshawe’s 
house being haunted; a fact on which both writer 
and reader may congratulate themselves, the ghostly 
chord having been played upon in these days until it 
has become wearisome and nauseous as the familiar 
tune of a barrel-organ. The house itself, moreover, 
except for the convenience of its position close to the 
seldom-disturbed cemetery, was hardly worthy to be 
haunted. As I remember it, (and for aught I know 
it still exists in the same guise,) it did not appear to 
be an ancient structure, nor one that would ever have 
been the abode of a very wealthy or prominent fam- 
ily ; — a three-story wooden house, perhaps a century 
old, low-studded, with a square front, standing right 
upon the street, and a small enclosed porch, contain- 
ing the main entrance, affording a glimpse up and 
down the street through an oval window on each 
side, its characteristic was decent respectability, not 
sinking below the boundary of the genteel. It has 
often perplexed my mind to conjecture what sort of 
man he could have been who, having the means to 
build a pretty, spacious, and comfortable residence, 
should have chosen to lay its foundation on the brink 
of so many graves; each tenant of these narrow 


6 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


houses crying out, as it were, against the absurdity 
of bestowing much time or pains in preparing any 
earthly tabernacle save such as theirs. But deceased 
people see matters from an erroneous — at least too 
exclusive — point of view ; a comfortable grave is an 
excellent possession for those who need it, but a com- 
fortable house has likewise its merits and temporary 
advantages.^ 

The founder of the house in question seemed sensi- 
ble of this truth, and had therefore been careful to lay 
out a sufficient number of rooms and chambers, low, 
ill-lighted, ugly, but not unsusceptible of warmth and 
comfort ; the sunniest and cheerfulest of which were 
on the side that looked into the graveyard. Of these, 
the one most spacious and convenient had been se- 
lected by Doctor Grimshawe as a study, and fitted 
up with bookshelves, and various machines and con- 
trivances, electrical, chemical, and distillatory, where- 
with he might pursue such researches as were wont 
to engage his attention. The great result of the grim 
Doctor’s labors, so far as known to the public, was a 
certain preparation or extract of cobwebs, which, out 
of a great abundance of material, he was able to pro- 
duce in any desirable quantity, and by the adminis- 
tration of which he professed to cure diseases of the 
inflammatory class, and to work very wonderful effects 
upon the human system. It is a great pity, for the 
good of mankind and the advantage of his own 
fortunes, that he did not put forth this medicine in 
pill-boxes or bottles, and then, as it were, by some 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


7 


captivating title, inveigle the public into his spider’s 
web, and suck out its gold substance, and himself wax 
fat as he sat in the central intricacy. 

But grim Doctor Grimshawe, though his aim in 
life might be no very exalted one, seemed singularly 
destitute of the impulse to better his fortunes by the 
exercise of his wits: it might even have been sup- 
posed, indeed, that he had a conscientious principle 
or religious scruple — only, he was by no means a 
religious man — against reaping profit from this par- 
ticular nostrum which he was said to have invented. 
He never sold it ; never prescribed it, unless in 
cases selected on some principle that nobody could 
detect or explain. The grim Doctor, it must be ob- 
served, was not generally acknowledged by the pro- 
fession, with whom, in truth, he had never claimed a 
fellowship ; nor had he ever assumed of his own 
accord the medical title by which the public chose 
to know him. His professional practice seemed, in 
a sort, forced upon him; it grew pretty extensive, 
partly because it was understood to be a matter 
of favor and difiSculty, dependent on a capricious 
will, to obtain his services at all. There was un- 
questionably an odor of quackery about him ; but 
by no means of an ordinary kind. A sort of mys- 
tery — yet which, perhaps, need not have been a 
mystery, had any one thought it worth while to make 
systematic inquiry in reference to his previous life, 
his education, even his native land — assisted the 
impression which his peculiarities were calculated 


8 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


to make. He was evidently not a New-Englander, 
nor a native of any part of these Western shores. 
His speech was apt to he oddly and uncoiithly 
idiomatic, and even when classical in its form was 
emitted with a strange, rough depth of utterance, 
that came from recesses of the lungs which we 
Yankees seldom put to any use. In person, he 
did not look like one of us; a broad, rather short 
personage, with a projecting forehead, a red, irreg- 
ular face, and a squab nose ; eyes that looked dull 
enough in their ordinary state, but had a faculty, in 
conjunction with the other features, which those who 
had ever seen it described as especially ugly and awful. 
As regarded dress. Doctor Grimshawe had a rough 
and careless exterior, and altogether a shaggy kind of 
aspect, the effect of which was much increased by a 
reddish beard, which, contrary to the usual custom of 
the day, he allowed to grow profusely ; and the wiry 
perversity of which seemed to know as little of the 
comb as of the razor. 

We began with calling the grim Doctor an elderly 
personage ; but in so doing we looked at him through 
the eyes of the two children, who were his intimates, 
and who had not learnt to decipher the purport and 
value of his wrinkles and furrows and corrugations, 
whether as indicating age, or a different kind of wear 
and tear. Possibly — he seemed so aggressive and 
had such latent heat and force to throw out when 
occasion called — he might scarcely have seemed 
middle-aged ; though here again we hesitate, finding 


DOCTOR GRIMSHA WE^S SECRET. 


9 


him so stiffened in his own way, so little fluid, so 
encrusted with passions and humors, that he must 
have left his youth very far behind him; if indeed 
he ever had any. 

The patients, or whatever other visitors were ever 
admitted into the Doctor’s study, carried abroad strange 
accounts of the squalor of dust and cobwebs in which 
the learned and scientific person lived ; and the dust, 
they averred, was all the more disagreeable, because 
it could not well be other than dead men’s almost in- 
tangible atoms, resurrected from the adjoining grave- 
yard. As for the cobwebs, they were no signs of 
housewifely neglect on the part of crusty Hannah, 
the handmaiden ; but the Doctor’s scientific material, 
carefully encouraged and preserved, each filmy thread 
more valuable to him than so much golden wire. Of 
all barbarous haunts in Christendom or elsewhere, this 
study was the one most overrun with spiders. They 
dangled from the ceiling, crept upon the tables, lurked 
in the corners, and Avove the intricacy of their webs 
wherever they could hitch the end from point to 
point across the window-panes, and even across the 
upper part of the doorway, and in the chimney-place. 
It seemed impossible to move without breaking some 
of these mystic threads. Spiders crept familiarly 
towards you and walked leisurely across your hands : 
these were their precincts, and you only an intruder. 
If you had none about your person, yet you had an 
odious sense of one crawling up your spine, or spin- 
ning cobwebs in your brain, — so pervaded w^as the 


10 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


atmosphere of the place with spider-life. What they 
fed upon (for all the flies for miles about would not 
have sufficed them) was a secret known only to 
the Doctor. Whence they came was another riddle ; 
though, from certain inquiries and transactions of 
Doctor Grimshawe’s with some of the shipmasters 
of the port, who followed the East and West In- 
dian, the African and the South American trade, it 
was supposed that this odd philosopher was in the 
habit of importing choice monstrosities in the spider 
kind from all those tropic regions.^ 

All the above description, exaggerated as it may 

seem, is merely preliminary to the introduction of one 
single enormous spider, the biggest and ugliest ever 

seen, the pride of the grim Doctor’s heart, his treasure, 
his glory, the pearl of his soul, and, as many people 
said, the demon to whom he had sold his salvation, 
on condition of possessing the web of the foul creature 
for a certain number of years. The grim Doctor, ac- 
cording to this theory, was but a great fly which this 
spider had subtly entangled in his web. But, in 
truth, naturalists are acquainted with this spider, 
though it is a rare one ; the British Museum has a 
specimen, and, doubtless, so have many other scien- 
tific institutions. It is found in South America ; its 
most hideous spread of legs covers a space nearly as 
large as a dinner-plate, and radiates from a body as 
big as a door-knob, which one conceives to be an 
agglomeration of sucked-up poison which the creature 
treasures through life ; probably to expend it all, and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


11 


life itself, on some worthy foe. Its colors, variegated 
in a sort of ugly and inauspicious splendor, were dis- 
tributed over its vast bulb in great spots, some of 
which glistened like gems. It was a horror to think 
of this thing living ; still more horrible to think of 
the foul catastrophe, the crushed-out and wasted poi- 
son, that would follow the casual setting foot upon it. 

No doubt, the lapse of time since the Doctor and 
his spider lived has already been sufficient to cause a 
traditionary wonderment to gather over them both ; 
and, especially, this image of the spider dangles down 
to us from the dusky ceiling of the Past, swollen 
into somewhat uglier and huger monstrosity than he 
actually possessed. Nevertheless, the creature had a 
real existence, and has left kindred like himself ; but 
as for the Doctor, nothing could exceed the value which 
he seemed to put upon him, the sacrifices he made for 
the creature’s convenience, or the readiness with which 
he adapted his whole mode of life, apparently, so that 
the spider might enjoy the conditions best suited to 
his tastes, habits, and health. And yet there were 
sometimes tokens that made people imagine that he 
hated the infernal creature as much as everybody else 
who caught a glimpse of him.^ 


12 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTER IL 

Considering that Doctor Grimshawe, when we first 
look upon him, had dwelt only a few years in the 
house by the graveyard, it is wonderful what an ap- 
pearance he, and his furniture, and his cobwebs, and 
their unweariable spinners, and crusty old Hannah, 
all had of having permanently attached themselves to 
the locality. For a century, at least, it might be fan- 
cied that the study in particular had existed just as 
it was now ; with those dusky festoons of spider-silk 
hanging along the walls, those book-cases with vol- 
umes turning their parchment or black-leather backs 
upon you, those machines and engines, that table, and 
at it the Doctor, in a very faded and shabby dressing- 
gown, smoking a long clay pipe, the powerful fumes 
of which dwelt continually in his reddish and grisly 
beard, and made him fragrant wherever he went. 
This sense of fixedness — stony intractability — seems 
to belong to people who, instead of hope, which exalts 
everything into an airy, gaseous exhilaration, have a 
fixed and dogged purpose, around which everything 
congeals and crystallizes.^ Even the sunshine, dim 
through the dustiness of the two casements that looked 
upon the graveyard, and the smoke, as it came warm 
out of Doctor Grimshawe^s mouth, seemed already 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


13 


stale. But if the two children, or either of them, 
happened to be in the study, — if they ran to open 
the door at the knock, if they came scampering and 
peeped down over the banisters, — the sordid and 
rusty gloom was apt to vanish quite away. The sun- 
beam itself looked like a golden rule, that had been 
flung down long ago, and had lain there till it was 
dusty and tarnished. They were cheery little imps, 
who sucked up fragrance and pleasantness out of their 
surroundings, dreary as these looked ; even as a flower 
can find its proper perfume in any soil where its seed 
happens to fall. The great spider, hanging by his 
cordage over the Doctor’s head, and waving slowly, 
like a pendulum, in a blast from the crack of the door, 
must have made millions and millions of precisely 
such vibrations as these; but the children were new, 
and made over every day, with yesterday’s weariness 
left out. 

The little girl, however, was the merrier of the 
two. It was quite unintelligible, in view of the little 
care that crusty Hannah took of her, and, moreover, 
since she was none of your prim, fastidious children, 
how daintily she kept herself amid all this dust ; how 
the spider’s webs never clung to her, and how, when 
— without being solicited — she clambered into the 
Doctor’s arms and kissed him, she bore away no smoky 
reminiscences of the pipe that he kissed continually. 
She had a free, mellow, natural laughter, that seemed 
the ripened fruit of the smile that was generally on 
her little face, to be shaken ofi* and scattered abroad 


14 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


by any breeze that came along. Little Elsie made 
playthings of everything, even of the grim Doctor, 
though against his will, and though, moreover, there 
were tokens now and then that the sight of this bright 
little creature was not a pleasure to him, but, on the 
contrary, a positive pain ; a pain, nevertheless, indi- 
cating a profound interest, hardly less deep than 
though Elsie had been his daughter. 

Elsie did not play with the great spider, but she 
moved among the whole brood of spiders as if she saw 
them not, and, being endowed with other senses than 
those allied to these things, might coexist with them 
and not be sensible of their presence. Yet the child, 
I suppose, had her crying fits, and her pouting fits, 
and naughtiness enough to entitle her to live on 
earth; at least crusty Hannah often said so, and often 
made grievous complaint of disobedience, mischief, 
or breakage, attributable to little Elsie ; to which the 
grim Doctor seldom responded by anything more in- 
telligible than a puff of tobacco-smoke, and, some- 
times, an imprecation; which, however, hit crusty 
Hannah instead of the child. Where the child got the 
tenderness that a child needs to live upon, is a mys- 
tery to me ; perhaps from some aged or dead mother, 
or in her dreams ; perhaps from some small modicum 
of it, such as boys have, from the little boy ; or perhaps 
it was from a Persian kitten, which had grown to be a 
cat in her arms, and slept in her little bed, and now 
assumed grave and protective airs towards her former 
playmate.^ 


DOCTOR GRIMSEAWKS SECRET. 


15 


The boy,® as we have said, was two or three years 
Elsie’s elder, and might now be about six years old. 
He was a healthy and cheerful child, yet of a graver 
mood than the little girl, appearing to lay a more 
forcible grasp on the circumstances about liim, and 
to tread with a heavier footstep on the solid earth ; 
yet perhaps not more so than was the necessary dif- 
ference between a man-blossom, dimly conscious of 
coming things, and a mere baby, with whom there 
was neither past nor future. Ned, as he was named, 
was subject very early to fits of musing, the subject 
of which — if they had any definite subject, or were 
more than vague reveries — it was impossible to 
guess. They were of those states of mind, probably, 
which are beyond the sphere of human language, and 
would necessarily lose their essence in the attempt 
to communicate or record them. The little girl, per- 
haps, had some mode of sympathy with these unut- 
tered thoughts or reveries, which grown people had 
ceased to have; at all events, she early learned to 
respect them, and, at other times as free and playful 
as her Persian kitten, she never in such circumstances 
ventured on any greater freedom than to sit down 
quietly beside him, and endeavor to look as thought- 
ful as the boy himself. 

Once, slowly emerging from one of these waking 
reveries, little Ned gazed about him, and saw Elsie 
sitting wuth this pretty pretence of thoughtfulness 
and dreaminess in her little chair, close beside him ; 
now and then peeping under her eyelashes to note 


16 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


what changes might come over his face. After look- 
ing at her a moment or two, he quietly took her 
willing and warm little hand in his own, and led her 
up to the Doctor. 

The group, methinks, must have been a picturesque 
one, made up as it was of several apparently discord- 
ant elements, each of which happened to be so com- 
bined as to make a more effective whole. The 
beautiful grave boy, with a little sword by his side 
and a feather in his hat, of a brown complexion, slen- 
der, with his white brow and dark, thoughtful eyes, 
so earnest upon some mysterious theme ; the prettier 
little girl, a blonde, round, rosy, so truly sympathetic 
with her companion's mood, yet unconsciously turning 
all to sport by her attempt to assume one similar ; — 
these two standing at the grim Doctor's footstool ; he 
meanwhile, black, wild-bearded, heavy-browed, red- 
eyed, wrapped in his faded dressing-gown, puffing out 
volumes of vapor from his long pipe, and making, just 
at that instant, application to a tumbler, which, we 
regret to say, was generally at his elbow, with some 
dark- colored potation in it that required to be fre- 
quently replenished from a neighboring black bottle. 
Half, at least, of the fluids in the grim Doctor's system 
must have been derived from that same black bottle, so 
constant was his familiarity with its contents ; and yet 
his eyes were never redder at one time than another, 
nor his utterance thicker, nor his mood perceptibly 
the brighter or the duller for all his conviviality. It 
is true, when, once, the bottle happened to be empty 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


17 


for a whole day together. Doctor Grimshawe was 
observed by crusty Hannah and by the children to 
be considerably fiercer than usual : so that probably, 
by some maladjustment of consequences, his intem- 
perance was only to be found in refraining from 
brandy. 

Hor must we forget — in attempting to conceive 
the effect of these two beautiful children in such a 
sombre room, looking on the graveyard, and contrasted 
with the grim Doctor's aspect of heavy and smoulder- 
ing fierceness — that over his head, at this very mo- 
ment, dangled the portentous spider, who seemed to 
have come down from his web aloft for the purpose 
of hearing what the two young people could have to 
say to his patron, and what reference it might have to 
certain mysterious documents which the Doctor kept 
locked up in a secret cupboard behind the door. 

Grim Doctor," said Ned, after looking up into the 
Doctor's face, as a sensitive child inevitably does, to 
see whether the occasion was favorable, yet deter- 
mined to proceed with his purpose whether so or 
not, — ‘"Grim Doctor, I want you to answer me a 
question." 

“ Here 's to your good health, Ned ! " quoth the 
Doctor, eying the pair intently, as he often did, 
when they were unconscious. So you want to ask 
me a question ? As many as you please, my fine 
fellow ; and I shall answer as many, and as much, 
and as truly, as may please myself 1 " 

Ah, grim Doctor ! " said the little girl, now letting 
2 


18 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


go of Ned’s hand, and climbing upon the Doctor’s 
knee, ’on shall answer as many as Ned please to ask, 
because to please him and me ! ” 

‘"Well, child,” said Doctor Grimshawe, little Ned 
will have his rights at least, at my hands, if not other 
people’s rights likewise ; and, if it be right, I shall 
answer his question. Only, let him ask it at once ; 
for I want to be busy thinking about something 
else.” 

“ Then, Doctor Grim,” said little Ned, " tell me, in 
the first place, where I came from, and how you came 
to have me ? ” 

The Doctor looked at the little man, so seriously 
and earnestly putting this demand, with a perplexed, 
and at first it might almost seem a startled aspect. 

"'That is a question, indeed, my friend Ned!” 
ejaculated he, putting forth a whiff of smoke and im- 
bibing a nip from his tumbler before he spoke ; and 
perhaps framing his answer, as many thoughtful and 
secret people do, in such a way as to let out his secret 
mood to the child, because knowing he could not 
understand it : " Whence did you come ? Whence 
did any of us come ? Out of the darkness and mys- 
tery ; out of nothingness ; out of a kingdom of shad- 
ows ; out of dust, clay, mud, I think, and to return to 
it again. Out of a former state of being, whence we 
have brought a good many shadowy revelations, pur- 
porting that it was no very pleasant one. Out of a 
former life, of which the present one is the hell ! — 
And why are you come ? Faith, Ned, he must be a 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


19 


wiser man than Doctor Grim who can tell why you 
or any other mortal came hither ; only one thing I 
am well aware of, — it was not to be happy. To toil 
and moil and hope and fear ; and to love in a shad- 
owy, doubtful sort of way, and to hate in bitter ear- 
nest, — that is what you came for ! 

Ah, Doctor Grim ! this is very naughty,’’ said lit- 
tle Elsie. You are making fun of little Ned, when 
he is in earnest.” 

'Tun!” quoth Doctor Grim, bursting into a laugh 
peculiar to him, very loud and obstreperous. " I am 
glad you find it so, my little woman. Well, and so 
you bid me tell absolutely where he came from ? ” 

Elsie nodded her bright little head. 

"And you, friend Ned, insist upon knowing?” 

" That I do. Doctor Grim ! ” answered Ned. His 
white, childish brow had gathered into a frown, such 
was the earnestness of his determination; and he 
stamped his foot on the floor, as if ready to follow up 
his demand by an appeal to the little tin sword which 
hung by his side. The Doctor looked at him with a 
kind of smile, — not a very pleasant one ; for it was 
an unamiable characteristic of his temper that a dis- 
play of spirit, even in a child, was apt to arouse his 
immense cornbativeness, and make him aim a blow 
without much consideration how heavily it might fall, 
or on how unequal an antagonist. 

" If you insist upon an answer. Master Ned, you 
shall have it,” replied he. " You were taken by me, 
boy, a foundling from an almshouse; and if ever 


20 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


hereafter you desire to know your kindred, you must 
take your chance of the first man you meet. He is 
as likely to be your father as another ! ” 

The child’s eyes flashed, and his brow grew as red 
as fire. It was but a momentary fierceness ; the next 
instant he clasped his hands over his face, and wept 
in a violent convulsion of grief and shame. Little 
Elsie clasped her arms about him, kissing his brow 
and chin, which were all that her lips could touch, 
under his clasped hands ; but Ned turned away un- 
comforted, and was blindly making his way towards 
the door. 

Ned, my little fellow, come back!” said Doctor 
Grim, who had very attentively watched the cruel 
effect of his communication. 

As the boy did not reply, and was still tending to- 
wards the door, the grim Doctor vouchsafed to lay 
aside his pipe, get up from his arm-chair (a thing he 
seldom did between supper and bedtime), and shuffle 
after the two children in his slippers. He caught 
them on the threshold, brought little Ned back by 
main force, — for he was a rough man even in his 
tenderness, — and, sitting down again and taking him 
on his knee, pulled away his hands from before his 
face. Never was a more pitiful sight than that pale 
countenance, so infantile still, yet looking old and 
experienced already, with a sense of disgrace, with a 
feeling of loneliness ; so beautiful, nevertheless, that 
it seemed to possess all the characteristics which fine 
hereditary traits and culture, or many forefathers. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


21 


could do in refining a human stock And this was a 
nameless weed, sprouting from some chance seed by 
the dusty wayside ! 

‘"Ned, my dear old boy,’' said Doctor Grim, — and 
he kissed that pale, tearful face, — the first and last 
time, to the best of my belief, that he was ever be- 
trayed into that tenderness ; “ forget what I have 
said ! Yes, remember, if you like, that you came 
from an almshouse ; but remember, too, — what your 
friend Doctor Grim is ready to affirm and make oath 
of, — that he can trace your kindred and race through 
that sordid experience, and back, back, for a hundred 
and fifty years, into an old English line. Come, little 
Ned, and look at this picture.” 

He led the boy by the hand to a corner of the 
room, where hung upon the wall a portrait which 
Ned had often looked at. It seemed an old picture; 
but the Doctor had had it cleaned and varnished, so 
that it looked dim and dark, and yet it seemed to be 
the representation of a man of no mark ; not at least 
of such mark as would naturally leave his features to 
be transmitted for the interest of another generation. 
For he was clad in a mean dress of old fashion, — a 
leather jerkin it appeared to be, — and round his neck, 
moreover, was a noose of rope, as if he might have 
been on the point of being hanged. But the face of 
the portrait, nevertheless, was beautiful, noble, though 
sad ; with a great development of sensibility, a look 
of suffering and endurance amounting to triumph, — 
a peace through all. 


22 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


Look at this/' continued the Doctor, if you must 
go on dreaming about your race. Dream that you 
are of the blood of this being ; for, mean as his station 
looks, he comes of an ancient and noble race, and was 
the noblest of them all ! Let me alone, Ned, and I 
shall spin out the web that shall link you to that 
man. The grim Doctor can do it!" 

The grim Doctor’s face looked fierce with the ear- 
nestness with which he said these words. You would 
have said that he was taking an oath to overthrow 
and annihilate a race, rather than to build one up by 
bringing forward the infant heir out of obscurity, and 
making plain the links — the filaments — which ce- 
mented this feeble childish life, in a far country, with 
the great tide of a noble life, which had come down 
like a chain from antiquity, in old England. 

Having said the words, however, the grim Doctor 
appeared ashamed both of the heat and of the tender- 
ness into which he had been betrayed ; for rude and 
rough as his nature was, there was a kind of decorum 
in it, too, that kept him within limits of his own. So 
he went back to his chair, his pipe, and his tumbler, 
and was gruffer and more taciturn than ever for the 
rest of the evening. And after the children went to 
bed, he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the 
vast tropic spider, who was particularly busy in add- 
ing to the intricacies of his web ; until he fell asleep 
with his eyes fixed in that direction, and the extin- 
guished pipe in one hand and the empty tumbler in 
the other. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


23 


CHAPTEE III. 

Doctor Grimshawe, after the foregone scene, 
began a practice of conversing more with the chil- 
dren than formerly ; directing his discourse chiefly to 
Ned, although Elsie's vivacity and more outspoken 
and demonstrative character made her take quite as 
large a share in the conversation as he. 

The Doctor's communications referred chiefly to a 
village, or neighborhood, or locality in England, which 
he chose to call Newnham ; although he told the 
children that this was not the real name, which, for 
reasons best known to himself, he wished to conceal. 
Whatever the name were, he seemed to know the 
place so intimately, that the children, as a matter of 
course, adopted the conclusion that it was his birth- 
place, and the spot where he had spent his schoolboy 
days, and had lived until some inscrutable reason 
had impelled him to quit its ivy-grown antiquity, 
and all the aged beauty and strength that he spoke 
of, and to cross the sea. 

He used to tell of an old church, far unlike the 
brick and pine-built meeting-houses with which the 
children were familiar ; a church, the stones of which 
were laid, every one of them, before the world knew 
of the country in which he was then speaking : and 


24 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


how it had a spire, the lower part of which was 
mantled with ivy, and np which, towards its very 
spire, the ivy was still creeping ; and how there was 
a tradition, that, if the ivy ever reached the top, the 
spire would fall upon the roof of the old gray church, 
and crush it all down among its surrounding tomb- 
stones.^ And so, as this misfortune would be so heavy 
a one, there seemed to be a miracle wrought from 
year to year, by which the ivy, though always flourish- 
ing, could never grow beyond a certain point ; so that 
the spire and church had stood unharmed for thirty 
years; though the wise old people were constantly 
foretelling that the passing year must be the very 
last one that it could stand. 

He told, too, of a place that made little Ned blush 
and cast down his eyes to hide the tears of anger 
and shame at he knew not what, which would irre- 
sistibly spring into them; for it reminded him of 
the almshouse where, as the cruel Doctor said, Ned 
himself bad had his earliest home. And yet, after all, 
it had scarcely a feature of resemblance ; and there 
was this great point of difference, — that whereas, 
in Ned’s wretched abode (a large, unsightly brick 
house), there were many wretched infants like him- 
self, as well as helpless people of all ages, widows, 
decayed drunkards, people of feeble wits, and all kinds 
of imbecility ; it being a haven for those who could 
not contend in the hard, eager, pitiless struggle of 
life ; in the place the Doctor spoke of, a noble. Gothic, 
mossy structure, there were none but aged men, who 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 25 

had drifted into this quiet harbor to end their days 
in a sort of humble yet stately ease and decorous 
abundance. And this shelter, the grim Doctor said, 
was the gift of a man who had died ages ago ; and 
having been a great sinner in his lifetime, and hav- 
ing drawn lands, manors, and a great mass of wealth 
into his clutches, by violent and unfair means, had 
thought to get his pardon by founding this Hospital, 
as it was called, in which thirteen old men should 
always reside; and he hoped that they would spend 
their time in praying for the welfare of his soul.^ 

Said little Elsie, I am glad he did it, and I hope 
the poor old men never forgot to pray for him, and 
that it did good to the poor wicked man's soul.” 

""AVell, child,” said Doctor Grimshawe, with a 
scowl into vacancy, and a sort of wicked leer of 
merriment at the same time, as if he saw before him 
the face of the dead man of past centuries, “ I happen 
to be no lover of this man's race, and I hate him for 
the sake of one of his descendants. I don't think 
he succeeded in bribing the Devil to let him go, or 
God to save him ! ” 

‘‘ Doctor Grim, you are very naughty ! ” said Elsie, 
looking shocked. 

“It is fair enough,” said Ned, “to hate your en- 
emies to the very brink of the grave, but then to 
leave him to get what mercy he can.” 

“ After shoving him in ! ” quoth the Doctor ; and 
made no further response to either of these criticisms, 
which seemed indeed to affect him very little — if 


26 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET 


he even listened to them. For he was a man of 
singularly imperfect moral culture ; insomuch that 
nothing else was so remarkable about him as that — 
possessing a good deal of intellectual ability, made 
available by much reading and experience — he was 
so very dark on the moral side ; as if he needed the 
natural perceptions that should have enabled him to 
acquire that better wisdom. Such a phenomenon 
often meets us in life ; oftener than we recognize, 
because a certain tact and exterior decency gener- 
ally hide the moral deficiency. But often there is a 
mind well polished, married to a conscience and nat- 
ural impulses left as they were in childhood, except 
that they have sprouted up into evil and poisonous 
weeds, richly blossoming with strong-smelling flowers, 
or seeds which the plant scatters by a sort of impulse ; 
even as the Doctor was now half-consciously throw- 
ing seeds of his evil passions into the minds of these 
children. He was himself a grown-up child, without 
tact, simplicity, and innocence, and with ripened 
evil, all the ranker for a native heat that was in him 
and still active, which might have nourished good 
things as well as evil. Indeed, it did cherish by 
chance a root or two of good, the fragrance of which 
was sometimes perceptible among all this rank growth 
of poisonous weeds. A grown-up child he was, — 
that was all. 

The Doctor now went on to describe an old coun- 
try-seat, which stood near this village and the ancient 
Hospital that he had been telling about, and which 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 27 


was formerly the residence of the wicked man (a 
knight and a brave one, well known in the Lancas- 
trian wars) who had founded the latter. It was a 
venerable old mansion, which a Saxon Thane had 
begun to build more than a thousand years ago, the 
old English oak that he built into the frame being 
still visible in the ancient skeleton of its roof, sturdy 
and strong as if put up yesterday. And the de- 
scendants of the man who built it, through the 
French line (for a Norman baron wedded the daugh- 
ter and heiress of the Saxon), dwelt there yet ; and in 
each century they had done something for the old 
Hall, — building a tower, adding a suite of rooms, 
strengthening what was already built, putting in a 
painted window, making it more spacious and con- 
venient, — till it seemed as if Time employed him- 
self in thinking what could be done for the old house. 
As fast as any part decayed, it was renewed, with 
such simple art that the new completed, as it were, 
and fitted itself to the old. So that it seemed as if 
the house never had been finished, until just that 
thing was added. For many an age, the possessors 
had gone on adding strength to strength, digging out 
the moat to a greater depth, piercing the walls with 
holes for archers to shoot through, or building a tur- 
ret to keep watch upon. But at last all necessity for 
these precautions passed away, and then they thought 
of convenience and comfort, adding something in 
every generation to these. And by and by they 
thought of beauty too ; and in this time helped them 


28 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


with its weather-stains, and the ivy that grew over 
the walls, and the grassy depth of the dried-np moat, 
and the abundant shade that grew up everywhere, 
where naked strength would have been ugly. 

“ One curious thing in the house,” said the Doctor, 
lowering his voice, but with a mysterious look of 
triumph, and that old scowl, too, at the children, 
'‘was that they built a secret chamber, — a very 
secret one ! ” 

“ A secret chamber !” cried little Ned ; “ who lived 
in it ? A ghost ? ” 

“ There vras often use for it,” said Doctor Grim ; 
" hiding people who had fought on the wrong side, 
or Catholic priests, or criminals, or perhaps — who 
knows? — enemies that they wanted put out of the 
way, — troublesome folks. Ah ! it was often of use, 
that secret chamber : and is so still ! ” 

Here the Doctor paused a long while, and leaned 
back in his chair, slowly pufiBng long whiffs from his 
pipe, looking up at the great spider-demon that hung 
over his head, and, as it seemed to the children by 
the expression of his face, looking into the dim 
secret chamber which he had spoken of, and which, 
by something in his mode of alluding to it, assumed 
such a weird, spectral aspect to their imaginations 
that they never wished to hear of it again. Coming 
back at length out of his reverie, — returning, per- 
haps, out of some weird, ghostly, secret chamber of 
his memory, whereof the one in the old house was 
but the less horrible emblem, — he resumed his tale. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


29 


He said that, a long time ago, a war broke out in 
the old country between King and Parliament. At 
that period there were several brothers of the old 
family (which had adhered to the Catholic religion), 
and these chose the side of the King instead of that 
of the Puritan Parliament: all but one, whom the 
family hated because he took the Parliament side; 
and he became a soldier, and fought against his own 
brothers; and it was said among them that, so in- 
veterate was he, he went on the scaffold, masked, and 
was the very man who struck off the King’s head, 
and that his foot trod in the King’s blood, and that 
always afterwards he made a bloody track wherever 
he went. And there was a legend that his brethren 
once caught the renegade and imprisoned him in his 
own birthplace — 

In the secret chamber ? ” interrupted Ked. 

Ko doubt ! ” said the Doctor, nodding, ‘‘ though I 
never heard so.” 

They imprisoned him, but he made his escape and 
fled, and in the morning his prison-place, wherever it 
was, was empty. But on the threshold of the door 
of the old manor-house there was the print of a 
bloody footstep ; and no trouble that the housemaids 
took, no rain of all the years that have since passed, 
no sunshine, has made it fade : nor have all the wear 
and tramp of feet passing over it since then availed 
to erase it. 

“ I have seen it myself,” quoth the Doctor, and 
know this to be true.” 


30 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

Doctor Grim, now you are laughing at us,” said 
Ned, trying to look grave. But Elsie hid her face on 
the Doctor’s knee ; there being something that affected 
the vivid little girl with peculiar horror in the idea 
of this red footstep always glistening on the doorstep, 
and wetting, as she fancied, every innocent foot of 
child or grown person that had since passed over it.^ 

It is true 1 ” reiterated the grim Doctor ; for, man 
and boy, I have seen it a thousand times.” 

He continued the family history, or tradition, or 
fantastic legend, whichever it might be; telling his 
young auditors that the Puritan, the renegade son of 
the family, was afterwards, by the contrivances of his 
brethren, sent to Virginia and sold as a bond slave ; 
and how he had vanished from that quarter and 
come to New England, where he was supposed to 
have left children. And by and by two elder broth- 
ers died, and this missing brother became the heir 
to the old estate and to a title. Then the family 
tried to track his bloody footstep, and sought it far 
and near, through green country paths, and old 
streets of London ; but in vain. Then they sent 
messengers to see whether any traces of one stepping 
in blood could be found on the forest leaves of Amer- 
ica; but still in vain. The idea nevertheless pre- 
vailed that he would come back, and it was said they 
kept a bedchamber ready for him yet in the old house. 
But much as they pretended to regret the loss of him 
and his children, it would make them curse their 
stars were a descendant of his to return now. For 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


31 


the child of a younger son was in possession of the 
old estate, and was doing as much evil as his fore- 
fathers did ; and if the true heir were to appear on 
the threshold, he would (if he might but do it se- 
cretly) stain the whole doorstep as red as the Bloody 
Footstep had stained one little portion of it. 

“ Do you think he will ever come back ? asked 
Kttle Ned. 

'' Stranger things have happened, my little man ! ” 
said Doctor Grimshawe, than that the posterity of 
this man should come back and turn these usurpers 
out of his rightful inheritance. And sometimes, as 
I sit here smoking my pipe and drinking my glass, 
and looking up at the cunning plot that the spider 
is weaving yonder above my head, and thinking of 
this fine old family and some little matters that have 
been between them and me, I fancy that it may be 
so ! We shall see ! Stranger things have hap- 
pened.’’ 

And Doctor Grimshawe drank off his tumbler, 
winking at little Ned in a strange way, that seemed 
to be a kind of playfulness, but which did not affect 
the children pleasantly; insomuch that little Elsie 
put both her hands on Doctor Grim’s knees, and 
begged him not to do so any more.^ 


32 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE IV.i 

The children, after this conversation, often intro- 
duced the old English mansion into their dreams and 
little romances, which all imaginative children are 
continually mixing up with their lives, making the 
commonplace day of grown people a rich, misty, 
glancing orb of fairy-land to themselves. Ned, for- 
getting or not realizing the long lapse of time, used 
to fancy the true heir wandering all this while in 
America, and leaving a long track of bloody footsteps 
behind him; until the period when, his sins being 
expiated (whatever they might be), he should turn 
back upon his steps and return to his old native 
home. And sometimes the child used to look along 
the streets of the town where he dwelt, bending his 
thoughtful eyes on the ground, and think that per- 
haps some time he should see the bloody footsteps 
there, betraying that the wanderer had just gone that 
way. 

As for little Elsie, it was her fancy that the hero 
of the legend still remained imprisoned in that dread- 
ful secret chamber, which had made a most dread 
impression on her mind ; and that there he was, for- 
gotten all this time, waiting, like a naughty child 
shut up in a closet, until some one should come to 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


33 


unlock the door. In the pitifulness of her disposi- 
tion, she once proposed to little Ned that, as soon as 
they grew big enough, they should set out in quest 
of the old house, and find their way into it, and find 
the secret chamber, and let the poor prisoner out. So 
they lived a good deal of the time in a half- waking 
dream, partly conscious of the fantastic nature of 
their ideas, yet wdth these ideas almost as real to 
them as the facts of the natural world, which, to chil- 
dren, are at first transparent and unsubstantial. 

The Doctor appeared to have a pleasure, or a pur- 
pose, in keeping his legend forcibly in their memo- 
ries ; he often recurred to the subject of the old English 
family, and was continually giving new details about 
its history, the scenery in its neighborhood, the as- 
pect of the mansion-house ; indicating a very intense 
interest in the subject on his own part, of which this 
much talk seemed the involuntary overflowing. 

There was, however, an affection mingled with this 
sentiment. It appeared to be his unfortunate neces- 
sity to let his thoughts dwell very constantly upon a 
subject that was hateful to him, with which this old 
English estate and manor-house and family were 
somehow connected; and, moreover, had he spoken 
thus to older and more experienced auditors, they 
might have detected in the manner and matter of 
his talk, a certain hereditary reverence and awe, the 
growth of ages, mixed up with a newer hatred, im- 
pelling him to deface and destroy what, at the same 
time, it was his deepest impulse to bow before. The 


34 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


love belonged to his race ; the hatred, to himself in- 
dividually. It was the feeling of a man lowly horn, 
when he contracts a hostility to his hereditary supe- 
rior. In one way, being of a powerful, passionate 
nature, gifted with force and ability far superior to 
that of the aristocrat, he might scorn him and feel 
able to trample on him ; in another, he had the same 
awe that a country boy feels of the magistrate who 
flings him a sixpence and shakes his horsewhip at 
him. 

Had the grim Doctor been an American, he might 
have had the vast antipathy to rank, without the 
trace of aw^e that made it so much more malignant : 
it required a low-born Englishman to feel the two 
together. What made the hatred so fiendish was a 
something that, in the natural course of things, would 
have been loyalty, inherited affection, devoted self- 
sacrifice to a superior. Whatever it might be, it 
seemed at times (when his potations took deeper 
effect than ordinary) almost to drive the grim Doctor 
mad ; for he would burst forth in wild diatribes and 
anathemas, having a strange, rough force of expression 
and a depth of utterance, as if his words came from a 
bottomless pit within himself, where burned an ever- 
lasting fire, and where the furies had their home ; and 
plans of dire revenge were welded into shape as in 
the heat of a furnace. After the two poor children 
had been affrighted by paroxysms of this kind, the 
strange being would break out into one of his roars 
of laughter, that seemed to shake the house, and, at 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 35 


all events, caused the cobwebs and spiders suspended 
from the ceiling, to swing and vibrate with the motion 
of the volumes of reverberating breath which he thus 
expelled from his capacious lungs. Then, catching 
up little Elsie upon one knee and Ned upon the 
other, he would become gentler than in his usual 
moods, and, by the powerful magnetism of his char- 
acter, cause them to think him as tender and sweet 
an old fellow as a child could desire for a playmate. 
Upon the whole, strange as it may appear, they loved 
the grim Doctor dearly ; there was a loadstone within 
him that drew them close to him and kept them 
there, in spite of the horror of many things that he 
said and did. One thing that, slight as it seemed, 
wrought mightily towards their mutually petting each 
other, was that no amount of racket, hubbub, shout- 
ing, laughter, or noisy mischief which the two chil- 
dren could perpetrate, ever disturbed the Doctor’s 
studies, meditations, or employments of whatever 
kind. He had a hardy set of nerves, not refined by 
careful treatment in himself or his ancestors, but prob- 
ably accustomed from of old to be drummed on by 
harsh voices, rude sounds, and the clatter and clamor 
of household life among homely, uncultivated, strong- 
ly animal people. 

As the two children grew apace, it behooved their 
strange guardian to take some thought for their in- 
struction. So far as little Elsie was concerned, how- 
ever, he seemed utterly indifferent to her having any 
cultivation : having imbibed no modern ideas respect- 


36 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


ing feminine capacities and privileges, but regarding 
woman, whether in the bud or in the blossom, as the 
plaything of man's idler moments, and the helpmeet 
— but in a humble capacity — of his daily life. He 
sometimes bade her go to the kitchen and take lessons 
of crusty Hannah in bread-making, sweeping, dust- 
ing, washing, the coarser needlework, and such other 
things as she would require to know when she came 
to be a woman ; but carelessly allowed her to gather 
up the crumbs of such instruction as he bestowed on 
her playmate Hed, and thus learn to read, write, and 
cipher ; which, to say the truth, was about as far in 
the way of scholarship as little Elsie cared to go. 

But towards little Ned the grim Doctor adopted a 
far different system. No sooner had he reached the 
age when the soft and tender intellect of the child 
became capable of retaining impressions, than he took 
him vigorously in hand, assigning him such tasks as 
were fit for him, and curiously investigating what 
were the force and character of the powers with which 
the child grasped them. Not that the Doctor pressed 
him forward unduly; indeed, there was no need of 
it; for the boy manifested a remarkable docility for 
instruction, and a singular quickness in mastering the 
preliminary steps which lead to science : a subtle 
instinct, indeed, which it seemed wonderful a child 
should possess for anything as artificial as systems 
of grammar and arithmetic. A remarkable boy, in 
truth, he was, to have been found by chance in an 
almshouse ; except that, such being his origin, we 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 37 


are at liberty to suppose for him whatever long culti- 
vation and gentility we may think necessary, in his 
parentage of either side, — such as was indicated also 
by his graceful and refined beauty of person. He 
showed, indeed, even before he began to read at all, 
an instinctive attraction towards books, and a love for 
and interest in even the material form of knowledge, 
— the plates, the print, the binding of the Doctor’s 
volumes, and even in a bookworm which he once 
found in an old volume, where it had eaten a circular 
furrow. But the little boy had too quick a spirit of 
life to be in danger of becoming a bookworm himself. 
He had this side of the intellect, but his impulse 
W’ould be to mix with men, and catch something from 
their intercourse fresher than books could give him ; 
though these w^ould give him what they might. 

In the grim Doctor, rough and uncultivated as he 
seemed, this budding intelligence found no inadequate 
instructor. Doctor Grimshawe proved himself a far 
more thorough scholar, in the classics and mathemat- 
ics, than could easily have been found in our country. 
He himself must have had rigid and faithful instruc- 
tion at an early period of life, though probably not in 
his boyhood. For, though the culture had been be- 
stowed, his mind had been left in so singularly rough 
a state that it seemed as if the refinement of classical 
study could not have been begun very early. Or pos- 
sibly the mind and nature were incapable of polish ; 
or he may have had a coarse and sordid domestic life 
around him in his infancy and youth. He was a gem 


38 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


of coarse texture, just hewn out. An American with 
a like education would more likely have gained a cer- 
tain fineness and grace, and it would have been diffi- 
cult to distinguish him from one who had been born 
to culture and refinement. This sturdy Englishman, 
after all that had been done for his mind, and though 
it had been well done, was still but another plough- 
man, of a long race of such, with a few scratchings of 
refinement on his hard exterior. His son, if he left one, 
might be a little less of the ploughman ; his grand- 
son, provided the female element were well chosen, 
might approach to refinement ; three generations — a 
century at least — would be required for the slow 
toil of hewing, chiselling, and polishing a gentleman 
out of this ponderous block, now rough from the 
quarry of human nature. But, in the mean time, he 
evidently possessed in an unusual degree the sort of 
learning that refines other minds, — the critical ac- 
quaintance with the great poets and historians of an- 
tiquity, and apparently an appreciation of their merits, 
and power to teach their beauty. So the boy had an 
able tutor, capable, it would seem, of showing him the 
way to the graces he did not himself possess ; besides 
helping the growth of the strength without which re- 
finement is but sickly and disgusting. 

Another sort of culture, wliich it seemed odd that 
this rude man should undertake, was that of manners; 
but, in fact, rude as the grim Doctor’s own manners 
were, he was one of the nicest and severest censors 
in that department that was ever known. It is diffi- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


39 


cult to account for this; although it is almost in- 
variably found that persons in a low rank of life, such 
as servants and laborers, will detect the false pre- 
tender to the character of a gentleman, with at least 
as sure an instinct as the class into which they seek 
to thrust themselves. Perhaps they recognize some- 
thing akin to their own vulgarity, rather than appre- 
ciate what is unlike themselves. The Doctor possessed 
a peculiar power of rich rough humor on this subject, 
and used to deliver lectures, as it were, to little hTed, 
illustrated with sketches of living individuals in the 
town where they dwelt ; by an unscrupulous use of 
whom he sought to teach the boy what to avoid in 
manners, if he sought to be a gentleman. But it 
must be confessed he spared himself as little as other 
people, and often wound up with this compendious 
injunction, — ''Be everything in your behavior that 
Doctor Grim is not!” 

His pupil, very probably, profited somewhat by 
these instructions ; for there are specialties and arbi- 
trary rules of behavior which do not come by nature. 
But these are few ; and beautiful, noble, and genial 
manners may almost be called a natural gift; and 
these, however he inherited them, soon proved to be 
an inherent possession of little Ned. He had a kind 
of natural refinement, which nothing could ever soil 
or offend ; it seemed, by some magic or other, abso- 
lutely to keep him from the knowledge of much of 
the grim Doctor’s rude and sordid exterior, and to 
render what was around him beautiful by a sort of 


40 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


affiliation, or reflection from that quality in himself, 
glancing its white light upon it. The Doctor himself 
was puzzled, and apparently both startled and delighted 
at the perception of these characteristics. Sometimes 
he would make a low, uncouth bow, after his fashion, 
to the little fellow, saying, Allow me to kiss your 
hand, my lord ! ” and little Ned, not quite knowing 
what the grim Doctor meant, yet allowed the favor 
he asked, with a grave and gracious condescension 
that seemed much to delight the suitor. This refusal 
to recognize or to suspect that the Doctor might be 
laughing at him was a sure token, at any rate, of the 
lack of one vulgar characteristic in little Ned. 

In order to afford little Ned every advantage to 
these natural gifts. Doctor Grim nevertheless failed 
not to provide the best attainable instructor for such 
positive points of a polite education as his own fierce 
criticism, being destructive rather than generative, 
would not suffice for. There was a Frenchman in 
the town — a M. Le Grand, secretly calling himself 
a Count — who taught the little people, and, indeed, 
some of their elders, the Parisian pronunciation of his 
own language ; and likewise dancing (in which he was 
more of an adept and more successful than in the 
former branch) and fencing: in which, after looking 
at a lesson or two, the grim Doctor was satisfied of 
his skill. Under his instruction, with the stimulus 
of the Doctor’s praise and criticism, Ned soon grew to 
be the pride of the Frenchman’s school, in both the 
active departments; and the Doctor himself added 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


41 


a further gymnastic acquirement (not absolutely ne- 
cessary, he said, to a gentleman’s education, but very 
desirable to a man perfect at all points) by teach- 
ing him cudgel-playing and pugilism. In short, in 
everything that related to accomplishments, whether 
of mind or body, no pains were spared with little 
Ned; but of the utilitarian line of education, then 
almost exclusively adopted, and especially desirable 
for a fortuneless boy like Ned, dependent on a man 
not wealthy, there was little given. 

At first, too, the Doctor paid little attention to the 
moral and religious culture of his pupil ; nor did he 
ever make a system of it. But by and by, though 
with a singular reluctance and kind of bashfulness, 
he began to extend his care to these matters ; being 
drawn into them unawares, and possibly perceiving 
and learning what he taught as he went along. One 
evening, I know not how, he was betrayed into speak- 
ing on this point, and a sort of inspiration seized him. 
A vista opened before him: handling an immortal 
spirit, he began to know its requisitions, in a degree 
far beyond what he had conceived them to be when 
his great task Avas undertaken. His voice grew deep, 
and had a strange, impressive pathos in it ; his talk 
became eloquent with depth of meaning and feeling, 
as he told the boy of the moral dangers of the world, 
for which he was seeking to educate him ; and which, 
he said, presented what looked like great triumphs, 
and yet were the greatest and saddest of defeats. He 
told him that many things that seemed nearest and 


42 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


dearest to the heart of man were destructive, eating 
and gnawing away and corroding what was best in 
him; and what a high, noble, re-creating triumph 
it was when these dark impulses were resisted and 
overthrown ; and how, from that epoch, the soul took 
a new start. He denounced the selfish greed of gold, 
lawless passion, revenge, — and here the grim Doctor 
broke out into a strange passion and zeal of anathema 
against this deadly sin, making a dreadful picture of 
the ruin that it creates in the heart where it establishes 
itself, and how it makes a corrosive acid of those 
genial juices. Then he told the boy that the condi- 
tion of all good was, in the first place, truth ; then, 
courage ; then, justice ; then, mercy ; out of which 
principles operating upon one another would come 
all brave, noble, high, unselfish actions, and the scorn 
of all mean ones ; and how that from such a nature 
all hatred would fall away, and all good affections 
would be ennobled. 

I know not at what point it was, precisely, in these 
ethical instructions that an insight seemed to strike 
the grim Doctor that something more — vastly more 
— was needed than all he had said; arid he began, 
doubtfully, to speak of man’s spiritual ' nature and 
its demands, and the emptiness of everything which 
a sense of these demands did not pervade, and con- 
dense, and weighten into realities. And going on in 
this strain, he soared out of himself and astonished 
the two children, who stood gazing at him, wondering 
whether it were the Doctor who was speaking thus ; 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


43 


until some interrupting circumstance seemed to bring 
him back to himself, and he burst into one of his 
great roars of laughter. The inspiration, the strange 
light whereby he had been transfigured, passed out 
of his face ; and there was the uncouth, wild-bearded, 
rough, earthy, passionate man, whom they called 
Doctor Grim, looking ashamed of himself, and trying 
to turn the whole matter into a jest.^ 

It was a sad pity that he should have been inter- 
rupted, and brought into this mocking mood, just 
when he seemed to have broken away from the sin- 
fulness of his hot, evil nature, and to have soared 
into a region where, with all his native characteris- 
tics transfigured, he seemed to have become an angel 
in his own likeness. Crusty Hannah, who had been 
drawn to the door of the study by the unusual tones 
of his voice, — a kind of piercing sweetness in it, — 
always averred that she saw the gigantic spider 
swooping round his head in great crafty circles, and 
clutching, as it w^ere, at his brain with its great claws. 
But it was the old woman’s absurd idea that this 
hideous insect was the Devil, in that ugly guise, — 
a superstition which deserves absolutely no counte- 
nance. Nevertheless, though this paroxysm of devo- 
tional feeling and insight returned no more to the 
grim Doctor, it was ever after a memorable occasion 
to the two children. It touched that religious chord, 
in both their hearts, which there was no mother to 
touch ; but now it vibrated long, and never ceased 
to vibrate so long as they remained together, — nor. 


44 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


perhaps, after they were parted from each other and 
from the grim Doctor. And even then, in those after 
years, the strange music that had been awakened was 
continued, as it were the echo from harps on high. 
Now, at all events, they made little prayers for them- 
selves, and said them at bedtime, generally in secret, 
sometimes in unison ; and they read in an old dusty 
Bible which lay among the grim Doctor’s books ; and 
from little heathens, they became Christian children. 
Doctor Grimshawe was perhaps conscious of this 
result of his involuntary preachment, but he never 
directly noticed it, and did nothing either to efface 
or deepen the impression. 

It was singular, however, that, in both the chil- 
dren’s minds, this one gush of irresistible religious 
sentiment, breaking out of the grim Doctor’s inner 
depths, like a sort of holy lava from a volcano that 
usually emitted quite other matter, (such as hot, 
melted wrath and hate,) quite threw out of sight, 
then and always afterwards, his darker characteristics. 
They remembered him, with faith and love, as a reli- 
gious man, and forgot — what perhaps had made no 
impression on their innocent hearts — all the traits 
that other people might have called devilish. To them 
the grim Doctor was a saint, even during his lifetime 
and constant intercourse with them, and canonized 
forever afterwards. There is almost always, to be 
sure, this profound faith, with regard to those they 
love, in childhood ; but perhaps, in this instance, the 
children really had a depth of insight that grown 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 45 


people lacked ; a profound recognition of the bottom 
of this strange man’s nature, which was of such stuff 
as martyrs and heroic saints might have been made 
of, though here it had been wrought miserably amiss. 
At any rate, his face with the holy awe upon it 
was what they saw and remembered, when they 
thought of their friend Doctor Grim. 

One effect of his zealous and analytic instruction 
of the boy was very perceptible. Heretofore, though 
enduring him, and occasionally making a plaything of 
him, it may be doubted whether the grim Doctor had 
really any strong affection for the child: it rather 
seemed as if his strong will were forcing him to un- 
dertake, and carry sedulously forward, a self-imposed 
task. All that he had done — his redeeming the 
bright child from poverty and nameless degradation, 
ignorance, and a sordid life hopeless of better for- 
tune, and opening to him the whole realm of mighty 
possibilities in an American life — did not imply any 
love for the little individual whom he thus benefited. 
It had some other motive. 

But now, approaching the child in this close, inti- 
mate, and helpful way, it was very evident that his 
interest took a tenderer character. There was every- 
thing in the boy, that a boy could possess, to attract 
affection ; he would have been a father’s pride and joy. 
Doctor Grimshawe, indeed, was not his father ; but 
to a person of his character this was perhaps no cause 
of lesser love than if there had been the whole of that 
holy claim of kindred between them. We speak of 


46 DOCTOR CRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


the natural force of blood ; we speak of the paternal 
relation as if it were productive of more earnest affec- 
tion than can exist between two persons, one of whom 
is protective, but unrelated. But there are wild, for- 
cible, unrestricted characters, on whom the necessity 
and even duty of loving their own child is a sort of 
barrier to love. They perhaps do not love their own 
traits, which they recognize in their children ; they 
shrink from their own features in the reflection pre- 
sented by these little mirrors. A certain strangeness 
and unlikeness (such as gives poignancy to the love 
between the sexes) would excite a livelier affection. 
Be this as it may, it is not probable that Doctor 
Grimshawe would have loved a child of his own 
blood, with the coarse characteristics that he knew 
both in his race and himself, with nearly such fervor 
as this beautiful, slender, yet strenuous, intelligent, 
reflned boy, — with such a high-bred air, handling 
common things with so refined a touch, yet grasping 
them so firmly ; throwing a natural grace on all he 
did. Was he not his father, — he that took this fair 
blossom out of the sordid mud in which he must 
soon have withered and perished ? Was not this 
beautiful strangeness, which he so wondered at, the 
result of his care ? 

And little Elsie ? did the grim Doctor love her as 
well ? Perhaps not, for, in the first place, there was 
a natural tie, though not the nearest, between her 
and Doctor Grimshawe, which made him feel that 
she was cast upon his love : a burden which he ac- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 47 


knowledged himself bound to undertake. Then, too, 
there were unutterably painful reminiscences and 
thoughts, that made him gasp for breath, that turned 
his blood sour, that tormented his dreams with night- 
mares and hellish phantoms ; all of which were con- 
nected with this innocent and happy child ; so that, 
cheerful and pleasant as she was, there was to the 
grim Doctor a little fiend playing about his floor and 
throwing a lurid light on the wall, as the shadow of 
this sun-flickering child. It is certain that there was 
always a pain and horror mixed with his feelings 
towards Elsie ; he had to forget himself, as it were, 
and all that was connected with the causes why she 
came to be, before he could love her. Amid his 
fondness, when he was caressing her upon his knee, 
pressing her to his rough bosom, as he never took 
the freedom to press Ned, came these hateful remi- 
niscences, compelling him to set her down, and cor- 
rugating his heavy brows as with a pang of fiercely 
resented, strongly borne pain. Still, the child had 
no doubt contrived to make her way into the great 
gloomy cavern of the grim Doctor’s heart, and stole 
constantly further and further in, carrying a ray of 
sunshine in her hand as a taper to light her way, and 
illuminate the rude dark pit into which she so fear- 
lessly went. 


48 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEK V. 

Doctor Grim ^ had the English faith in open air 
and daily acquaintance with the weather, whatever 
it might be ; and it was his habit, not only to send 
the two children to play, for lack of a better place, in 
the graveyard, but to take them himself on long ram- 
bles, of which the vicinity of the town afforded a rich 
variety. It may be that the Doctor’s excursions had 
the wider scope, because both he and the children 
were objects of curiosity in the town, and very much 
the subject of its gossip : so that always, in its streets 
and lanes, the people turned to gaze, and came to 
their windows and to the doors of shops to see this 
grim, bearded figure, leading along the beautiful chil- 
dren each by a hand, with a surly aspect like a bull- 
dog. Their remarks were possibly not intended to 
reach the ears of the party, but certainly were not so 
cautiously whispered but they occasionally did do so. 
The male remarks, indeed, generally died away in the 
throats that uttered them ; a circumstance that doubt- 
less saved the utterer from some very rough rejoinder 
at the hands of the Doctor, who had grown up in the 
habit of a very ready and free recourse to his fists, 
which had a way of doubling themselves up seem- 
ingly of their own accord. But the shrill feminine 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 49 


voices sometimes sent their observations from win- 
dow to window without dread of any such repartee 
on the part of the subject of them. 

“ There he goes, the old Spider-witch ! quoth one 
shrill woman, with those two poor babes that he has 
caught in his cobweb, and is going to feed upon, poor 
little tender things ! The bloody Englishman makes 
free with the dead bodies of our friends and the liv- 
ing ones of our children ! 

‘'How red his nose is!” quoth another; “he has 
pulled at the brandy-bottle pretty stoutly to-day, 
early as it is ! Pretty habits those children will learn, 
between the Devil in the shape of a great spider, and 
this devilish fellow in his own shape ! It were well 
that our townsmen tarred and feathered the old Brit- 
ish wizard ! ” 

And, as he got further off, two or three little black- 
guard barefoot boys shouted shrilly after him, — 

Doctor Grim, Doctor Grim, 

The Devil wove a web for him 1 ** 

being a nonsensical couplet that had been made for 
the grim Doctor’s benefit, and was hooted in the 
streets, and under his own windows. Hearing such 
remarks and insults, the Doctor would glare round at 
them with red eyes, especially if the brandy-bottle 
had happened to be much in request that day. 

Indeed, poor Doctor Grim had met with a fortune 
which befalls many a man with less cause than drew 
the public attention on this odd humorist; for, dwell- 
ing in a town which was as yet but a larger village, 
4 


50 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

where everybody knew everybody, and claimed the 
privilege to know and discuss their characters, and 
where there were few topics of public interest to take 
off their attention, a very considerable portion of town 
talk and criticism fell upon him. The old town had 
a certain provincialism, which is less the character- 
istic of towns in these days, when society circulates 
so freely, than then: besides, it was a very rude 
epoch, just when the country had come through the 
war of the Eevolution, and while the surges of that 
commotion were still seething and swelling, and while 
the habits and morals of every individual in the com- 
munity still felt its influence ; and especially the con- 
test was too recent for an Englishman to be in very 
good odor, unless he should cease to be English, and 
become more American than the Americans them- 
selves in repudiating British prejudices or principles, 
habits, mode of thought, and everything that distin- 
guishes Britons at home or abroad. As Doctor Grim 
did not see fit to do this, and as, moreover, he was a 
very doubtful, questionable, morose, unamiable old 
fellow, not seeking to make himself liked nor deserv- 
ing to be so, he was a very unpopular person in the 
town where he had chosen to reside. Nobody thought 
very well of him ; the respectable people had heard 
of his pipe and brandy-bottle ; the religious commu- 
nity knew that he never showed himself at church 
or meeting ; so that he had not that very desirable 
strength (in a society split up into many sects) of 
being able to rely upon the party sympathies of any 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


51 


one of them. The mob hated him with the blind 
sentiment that makes one surly cur hostile to another 
surly cur. He was the most isolated individual to be 
found anywhere; and, being so unsupported, every- 
body was his enemy. 

The town, as it happened, had been pleased to in- 
terest itself much in this matter of Doctor Grim and 
the two children, insomuch as he never sent them to 
school, nor came with them to meeting of any kind, 
but was bringing them up ignorant heathen to all 
appearances, and, as many believed, was devoting 
them in some way to the great spider, to which he 
had bartered his own soul. It had been mooted 
among the selectmen, the fathers of the town, whether 
their duty did not require them to put the children 
under more suitable guardianship ; a measure which, 
it may be, was chiefly hindered by the consideration 
that, in that case, the cost of supporting them would 
probably be transferred from the grim Doctor’s shoul- 
ders to those of the community. Nevertheless, they 
did what they could. Maidenly ladies, prim and 
starched, in one or two instances called upon the 
Doctor — the two children meanwhile being in the 
graveyard at play — to give him Christian advice as 
to the management of his charge. But, to confess 
the truth, the Doctor’s reception of these fair mission- 
aries was not extremely courteous. They were, per- 
haps, partly instigated by a natural feminine desire 
to see the interior of a place about which they had 
heard much, with its spiders’ webs, its strange ma- 


52 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


chines and confusing tools ; so, much contrary to 
crusty Hannah’s advice, they persisted in entering. 
Crusty Hannah listened at the door ; and it was cu- 
rious to see the delighted smile which came over her 
dry old visage as the Doctor’s growling, rough voice, 
after an abrupt question or two, and a reply in a thin 
voice on the part of the maiden ladies, grew louder 
and louder, till the door opened, and forth came the 
benevolent pair in great discomposure. Crusty Han- 
nah averred that their caps were much rumpled ; but 
this view of the thing was questioned ; though it were 
certain that the Doctor called after them downstairs, 
that, had they been younger and prettier, they would 
have fared worse. A male emissary, who was ad- 
mitted on the supposition of his being a patient, did 
fare worse ; for (the grim Doctor having been partic- 
ularly intimate with the black bottle that afternoon) 
there was, about ten minutes after the visitor’s en- 
trance, a sudden fierce upraising of the Doctor’s 
growl; then a struggle that shook the house; and, 
finally, a terrible rumbling down the stairs, which 
proved to be caused by the precipitate descent of the 
hapless visitor; who, if he needed no assistance of 
the grim Doctor on his entrance, certainly would 
have been the better for a plaster or two after his 
departure. 

Such were the terms on which Doctor Grimshawe 
now stood with his adopted townspeople ; and if we 
consider the dull little town to be full of exaggerated 
stories about the Doctor’s oddities, many of them 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


53 


forged, all retailed in an unfriendly spirit ; misconcep- 
tions of a character which, in its best and most can- 
didly interpreted aspects, was sufficiently amenable to 
censure ; surmises taken for certainties ; superstitions 

— the genuine hereditary offspring of the frame of 
public mind which produced the witchcraft delusion 

— all fermenting together ; and all this evil and un- 
charitableness taking the delusive hue of benevolent 
interest in two helpless children; — we may partly 
judge what was the odium in which the grim Doctor 
dwelt, and amid which he walked. The horrid sus- 
picion, too, countenanced by his abode in the corner 
of the graveyard, affording the terrible Doctor such 
facilities for making free, like a ghoul as he was, with 
the relics of mortality from the earliest progenitor to 
the man killed yesterday by the Doctor’s own drugs, 
was not likely to improve his reputation. 

He had heretofore contented himself with, at most, 
occasionally shaking his stick at his assailants ; but 
this day the black bottle had imparted, it may be, a 
little more fire than ordinary to his blood ; and be- 
sides, an unlucky urchin happened to take particu- 
larly good aim with a mud ball, which took effect 
right in the midst of the Doctor’s bushy beard, and, 
being of a soft consistency, forthwith became incor- 
porated with it. At this intolerable provocation the 
grim Doctor pursued the little villain, amid a shower 
of similar missiles from the boy’s playmates, caught 
him as he was escaping into a back yard, dragged 
him into the middle of the street, and, with his 


54 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


stick, proceeded to give him his merited chastise- 
ment. 

But, hereupon, it was astonishing how sudden com- 
motion flashed up like gunpowder along the street, 
which, except for the petty shrieks and laughter of 
a few children, was just before so quiet. Forth out 
of every window in those dusky, mean wooden 
houses were thrust heads of women old and young ; 
forth out of every door and other avenue, and as if 
they started up from the middle of the street, or out 
of the unpaved sidewalks, rushed fierce avenging 
forms, threatening at full yell to take vengeance on 
the grim Doctor ; who still, with that fierce dark face 
of his, — his muddy beard all flying abroad, dirty and 
foul, his hat fallen off, his red eyes flashing fire, — 
was belaboring the poor hinder end of the unhappy 
urchin, paying off upon that one part of the boy’s 
frame the whole score which he had to settle with 
the rude boys of the town ; giving him at once the 
whole whipping which he had deserved every day 
of his life, and not a stroke of which he had yet re- 
ceived. Need enough there was, no doubt, that some- 
body should interfere with such grim and immitiga- 
ble justice ; and certainly the interference was prompt, 
and promised to be effectual. 

Down with the old tyrant ! Thrash him ! Hang 
him ! Tar and feather the viper’s fry ! the wizard ! 
the body-snatcher ! ” bellowed the mob, one member 
of which was raving with delirium tremens, and an- 
other was a madman just escaped from bedlam. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


55 


It is unaccountable where all this mischievous, 
bloodthirsty multitude came from, — how they were 
born into that quietness in such a moment of time ! 
What had they been about heretofore ? Were they 
waiting in readiness for this crisis, and keeping them- 
selves free from other employment till it should come 
to pass ? Had they been created for the moment, or 
were they fiends sent by Satan in the likeness of a 
blackguard population ? There you might see the 
offscourings of the recently finished war, — old sol- 
diers, rusty, wooden-legged: there, sailors, ripe for 
any kind of mischief ; there, the drunken population 
of a neighboring grogshop, staggering helter-skelter to 
the scene, and tumbling over one another at the Doc- 
tor’s feet. There came the father of the punished 
urchin, who had never shown heretofore any care for 
his street-bred progeny, but who now came pale with 
rage, armed with a pair of tongs ; and with him the 
mother, flying like a fury, with her cap awry, and 
clutching a broomstick, as if she were a witch just 
alighted. Up they rushed from cellar doors, and 
dropped down from chamber windows ; all rushing 
upon the Doctor, but overturning and thwarting them- 
selves by their very multitude. For, as good Doc- 
tor Grim levelled the first that came within reach of 
his fist, two or three of the others tumbled over him 
and lay grovelling at his feet ; the Doctor meanwhile, 
having retreated into the angle between two houses. 
Little Ned, with a valor which did him the more 
credit inasmuch as it was exercised in spite of a good 


66 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


deal of childish trepidation, as his pale face indicated, 
brandished his fists by the Doctor’s side ; and little 
Elsie did what any woman may, — that is, screeched 
in Doctor Grim’s behalf with full stretch of lungs. 
Meanwhile the street boys kept up a shower of mud 
balls, man}^ of which hit the Doctor, while the rest 
were distributed upon his assailants, heightening their 
ferocity. 

‘‘ Seize the old scoundrel ! the villain ! the Tory ! 
the dastardly Englishman ! Hang him in the web of 
his own devilish spider, — ’t is long enough ! Tar and 
feather him ! tar and feather him ! ” 

It was certainly one of those crises that show a 
man how few real friends he has, and the tendency of 
mankind to stand aside, at least, and let a poor devil 
fight his own troubles, if not assist them in their at- 
tack. Here you might have seen a brother physician 
of the grim Doctor’s greatly tickled at his plight : or 
a decorous, powdered, ruffle-shirted dignitary, one of 
the weighty men of the town, standing at a neighbor’s 
corner to see what would come of it. 

“ He is not a respectable man, I understand, this 
Grimshawe, — a quack, intemperate, always in these 
scuffles : let him get out as he may ! ” 

And then comes a deacon of one of the churches, 
and several church-members, who, hearing a noise, set 
out gravely and decorously to see what was going for- 
ward in a Christian community. 

Ah ! it is that irreligious and profane Grimshawe, 
who never goes to meeting. We wash our hands of 
him ! ” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET 57 


And one of the selectmen said, — 

Surely this common brawler ought not to have 
the care of these nice, sweet children ; something 
must be done about it ; and when the man is sober, 
he must be talked to ! ” 

Alas ! it is a hard case with a man who lives upon 
his own bottom and responsibility, making himself 
no allies, sewing himself on to nobody’s skirts, insu- 
lating himself, — hard, when his trouble comes ; and 
so poor Doctor Grimshawe was like to find it. 

He had succeeded by dint of good skill, and some 
previous practice at quarter-staff, in keeping his as- 
sailants at bay, though not without some danger on 
his own part ; but their number, their fierceness, and 
the more skilled assault of some among them must 
almost immediately have been successful, w^hen the 
Doctor’s part was strengthened by an unexpected ally . 
This was a person ^ of tall, slight figure, who, without 
lifting his hands to take part in the conflict, thrust 
himself before the Doctor, and turned towards the as- 
sailants, crying, — 

“ Christian men, what would you do ? Peace, — 
peace ! ” 

His so well intended exhortation took effect, in- 
deed, in a certain way, but not precisely as might 
have been wished : for a blow, aimed at Doctor Grim, 
took effect on the head of this man, who seemed to 
have no sort of skill or alacrity at defending himself, 
any more than at making an assault ; for he never 
lifted his hands, but took the blow as unresistingly as 


58 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


if it had been kindly meant, and it levelled him 
senseless on the ground. 

Had the mob really been enraged for any strenuous 
cause, this incident would have operated merely as a 
preliminary whet to stimulate them to further blood- 
shed. But, as they were mostly actuated only by a 
natural desire for mischief, they were about as well 
satisfied with what had been done as if the Doctor 
himself were the victim. And besides, the fathers and 
respectabilities of the town, who had seen this mis- 
hap from afar, now began to put forward, crying out, 
‘‘ Keep the peace ! keep the peace ! A riot ! a riotT’ 
and other such cries as suited the emergency; and 
the crowd vanished more speedily than it had congre- 
gated, leaving the Doctor and the two children alone 
beside the fallen victim of a quarrel not his own. 
Not to dwell too long on this incident, the Doctor, 
laying hold of the last of his enemies, after the rest 
had taken to their heels, ordered him sternly to stay 
and help him bear the man, whom he had helped to 
murder, to his house. 

It concerns you, friend ; for, if he dies, you hang 
to a dead certainty ! ” 

And this was done accordingly. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


59 


CHAPTEE VI. 

About an hour thereafter there lay on a couch that 
had been hastily prepared in the study a person of 
singularly impressive presence : a thin, mild-looking 
man, with a peculiar look of delicacy and natural 
refinement about him, although he scarcely appeared 
to be technically and as to worldly position what we 
call a gentleman ; plain in dress and simple in man- 
ner, not giving the idea of remarkable intellectual 
gifts, but with a kind of spiritual aspect, fair, clear 
complexion, gentle eyes, still somewhat clouded and 
obscured by the syncope into which a blow on the 
head had thrown him. He looked middle-aged, and 
yet there was a kind of childlike, simple expression, 
which, unless you looked at him with the very pur- 
pose of seeing the traces of time in his face, would 
make you suppose him much younger. 

And how do you find yourself now, my good fel- 
low?” asked Doctor Grimshawe, putting forth his 
hand to grasp that of the stranger, and giving it 
a good, warm shake. ‘'None the worse, I should 
hope?”i 

“Not much the worse,” answered the stranger: 
“ not at all, it may be. There is a pleasant dimness 
and uncertainty in my mode of being. I am taken 


60 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


off my feet, as it were, and float in air, with a faint 
delight in my sensations. The grossness, the rough- 
ness, the too great angularity of the actual, is removed 
from me. It is a state that I like well. It may be, 
this is the way that the dead feel when they awake 
in another state of being, with a dim pleasure, after 
passing through the brief darkness of death. It is 
very pleasant.” 

He answered dreamily, and sluggishly, reluctantly, 
as if there were a sense of repose in him which he dis- 
liked to break by putting any of his sensations into 
words. His voice had a remarkable sweetness and 
gentleness, though lacking in depth of melody. 

‘‘ Here, take this,” said the Doctor, who had been 
preparing some kind of potion in a teaspoon : it may 
have been a dose of his famous preparation of spider’s 
web, for aught I know, the operation of which was 
said to be of a soothing influence, causing a delightful 
silkiness of sensation; but I know not whether it 
was considered good for concussions of the brain, 
such as it is to be supposed the present patient had 
undergone. “ Take this : it will do you good ; and 
here I drink your very good health in something that 
will do me good.” 

So saying, the grim Doctor quaffed off a tumbler 
of brandy and water. 

"'How sweet a contrast,” murmured the stranger, 
" between that scene of violence and this great peace 
that has come over me ! It is as when one can say^ 
I have fought the good fight.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


61 


You are right,” said the Doctor, with what would 
have been one of his deep laughs, but which he modi- 
fied in consideration of his patient’s tenderness of 
brain. ''We both of us fought a good fight; for 
though you struck no actual stroke, you took them 
as unflinchingly as ever I saw a man, and so turned 
the fortune of the battle better than if you smote 
with a sledge-hammer. Two things puzzle me in the 
affair. First, whence came my assailants, all in that 
moment of time, unless Satan let loose out of the in- 
fernal regions a synod of fiends, hoping thus to get a 
triumph over me. And secondly, whence came you, 
my preserver, unless you are an angel, and dropped 
down from the sky.” 

" No,” answered the stranger, with quiet simplicity. 
" I was passing through the street to my little school, 
when I saw your peril, and felt it my duty to expos- 
tulate with the people.” 

"Well,” said the grim Doctor, "come whence you 
will, you did an angel’s office for me, and I shall do 
what an earthly man may to requite it. There, we 
will talk no more for the present.” 

He hushed up the children, who were already, of 
their own accord, walking on tiptoe and whispering, 
and he himself even went so far as to refrain from 
the usual incense of his pipe, having observed that 
the stranger, who seemed to be of a very delicate or- 
ganization, had seemed sensible of the disagreeable 
effect on the atmosphere of the room. The restraint 
lasted, however, only till (in the course of the day) 


62 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


crusty Hannah had fitted up a little bedroom on the 
opposite side of the entry, to which she and the grim 
Doctor moved the stranger, who, though tall, they 
observed was of no great weight and substance, — the 
lightest man, the Doctor averred, for his size, that 
ever he had handled. 

Every possible care was taken of him, and in a 
day or two he was able to walk into the study again, 
where he sat gazing at the sordidness and unneatness 
of the apartment, the strange festoons and drapery of 
spiders’ webs, the gigantic spider himself, and at the 
grim Doctor, so shaggy, grizzly, and uncouth, in the 
midst of these surroundings, with a perceptible sense 
of something very strange in it all. His mild, gentle 
regard dwelt too on the two beautiful children, evi- 
dently with a sense of quiet wonder how they should 
be here, and altogether a sense of their unfitness ; 
they, meanwhile, stood a little apart, looking at him, 
somewhat disturbed and awed, as children usually 
are, by a sense that the stranger was not perfectly 
well, that he had been injured, and so set apart from 
the rest of the world. 

''Will you come to me, little one?” said he, hold- 
ing out a delicate hand to Elsie. 

Elsie came to his side without any hesitation, 
though without any of the rush that accompanied 
her advent to those whom she affected. "And you, 
my little man,” added the stranger, quietly, and look- 
ing to Ned, who likewise willingly approached, and, 
shaking him by the offered hand, let it go again, but 
continued standing by his side. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


63 


Do you know, my little friends,” said the stranger, 
" that it is my business in life to instruct such little 
people as you ?” 

‘‘Do they obey you well, sir?” asked Ned, perhaps 
conscious of a want of force in the person whom he 
addressed. 

The stranger smiled faintly. Not too well,” said 
he. ‘‘ That has been my difficulty ; for I have moral 
and religious objections, and also a great horror, to 
the use of the rod, and I have not been gifted with a 
harsh voice and a stern brow ; so that, after a while, 
my little people sometimes get the better of me. The 
present generation of men is too gross for gentle 
treatment.” 

" You are quite right,” quoth Doctor Grimshawe, 
who had been observing this little scene, and trying 
to make out, from the mutual deportment of the 
stranger and the two children, what sort of man this 
fair, quiet stranger was, with his gentleness and weak- 
ness, — characteristics that were not attractive to him- 
self, yet in which he acknowledged, as he saw them 
here, a certain charm ; nor did he know, scarcely, 
whether to despise the one in whom he saw them, 
or to yield to a strange sense of reverence. So he 
watched the children, with an indistinct idea of being 
guided by them. You are quite right : the world 
now — and always before, as far as I ever heard — 
requires a great deal of brute force, a great deal of 
animal food and brandy in the man that is to make 
an impression on it.” 


64 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


The convalescence of the stranger — he gave his 
name as Colcord — proceeded favorably ; for the Doc- 
tor remarked that, delicate as his system was, it had 
a certain purity, — a simple healthfulness that did 
not run into disease as stronger constitutions might. 
It did not apparently require much to crush down 
such a being as this, — not much unkindly breath to 
blow out the taper of his life, — and yet, if not abso- 
lutely killed, there was a certain aptness to keep alive 
in him not readily to be overcome. 

No sooner was he in a condition so to do, than he 
went forth to look after the little school that he had 
spoken of, but soon came back, announcing in a very 
quiet and undisturbed way that, during his withdrawal 
from duty, the scholars had been distributed to other 
instructors, and consequently he was without place 
or occupation 2 

"‘A hard case,’' said the Doctor, flinging a gruff 
curse at those who had so readily deserted the poor 
schoolmaster. 

'‘Not so hard,” replied Colcord. "These little fel- 
lows are an unruly set, born of parents who have led 
rough lives, — here in battle time, too, with the spirit 
of battle in them, — therefore rude and contentious 
beyond my power to cope with them. I have been 
taught, long ago,” he added, with a peaceful smile, 
" that my business in life does not lie with grown-up 
and consolidated men and women ; and so, not to be 
useless in my day, and to gain the little that my sus- 
tenance requires, I have thought to deal with chil- 
dren. But even for this I lack force.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


65 


dare say/’ said the Doctor, with a modified 
laugh. ‘‘Little devils they are, harder to deal with 
than men. Well, I am glad of your failure for one 
reason, and of your being thrown out of business ; be- 
cause we shall have the benefit of you the longer. 
Here is this boy to be instructed. I have made some 
attempts myself ; but having no art of instructing, no 
skill, no temper I suppose, I make but an indifferent 
hand at it : and besides I have other business that 
occupies my thoughts. Take him in hand, if you like, 
and the girl for company. 'No matter whether you 
teach her anything, unless you happen to be acquaint- 
ed with needlework.” 

“I will talk with the children,” said Colcord, “and 
see if I am likely to do good with them. The lad, I 
see, has. a singular spirit of aspiration and pride, — no 
ungentle pride, — but still hard to cope with. I will 
see. The little girl is a most comfortable child.” 

“ You have read the boy as if you had his heart in 
your hand,” said the Doctor, rather surprised. “I 
could not have done it better myself, though I have 
known him all but from the egg.” 

Accordingly, the stranger, who had been thrust so 
providentially into this odd and insulated little com- 
munity, abode with them, without more words being 
spoken on the subject : for it seemed to all concerned 
a natural arrangement, although, on both parts, they 
were mutually sensible of something strange in the 
companionship thus brought about. To say the truth, 
it was not easy to imagine two persons apparently 
6 


66 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


less adapted to each other’s society than the rough, 
uncouth, animal Doctor, whose faith was in his own 
right arm, so full of the old Adam as he w^as, so stur- 
dily a hater, so hotly impulsive, so deep, subtle, and 
crooked, so obstructed by his animal nature, so given 
to his pipe and black bottle, so wrathful and pugna- 
cious and wicked, — and this mild spiritual creature, 
so milky, with so unforceful a grasp ; and it was sin- 
gular to see how they stood apart and eyed each other, 
each tacitly acknowledging a certain merit and kind 
of power, though not well able to appreciate its value. 
The grim Doctor’s kindness, however, and gratitude, 
had been so thoroughly awakened, that he did not 
feel the disgust that he probably otherwise might at 
what seemed the mawkishness of Colcord’s charac- 
ter ; his want, morally speaking, of bone and muscle ; 
his fastidiousness of character, the essence of which 
it seemed to be to bear no stain upon it ; otherwise 
it must die. 

On Colcord’s part there was a good deal of evi- 
dence to be detected, by a nice observer, that he found 
it difficult to put up with the Doctor’s coarse pecu- 
liarities, whether physical or moral. His animal in- 
dulgences of appetite struck him with wonder and 
horror ; his coarse expressions, his free indulgence of 
wrath, his sordid and unclean habits ; the dust, the 
cobwebs, the monster that dangled from the ceiling ; 
his pipe, diffusing its fragrance through the house, and 
showing, by the plainest and simplest proof, how we 
all breathe one another’s breath, nice and proud as we 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 67 


may be, kings and daintiest ladies breathing the air 
that has already served to inflate a beggar’s lungs. 
He shrank, too, from the rude manhood of the Doc- 
tor’s character, with its human warmth, — an element 
which he seemed not to possess in his own character. 
He w^as capable only of gentle and mild regard, — that 
was his warmest affection ; and the warmest, too, tha.t 
he was capable of exciting in others. So that he was 
doomed as much apparently as the Doctor himself to 
be a lonely creature, without any very deep com- 
panionship in the world, though not incapable, when 
he, by some rare chance, met a soul distantly akin, of 
holding a certain high spiritual communion. With 
the children, however, he succeeded in establishing 
some good and available relations ; his simple and 
passionless character coincided with their simplicity, " 
and their as yet unawakened passions : they appeared 
to understand him better than the Doctor ever suc- 
ceeded in doing. He touched springs and elements 
in the nature of both that had never been touched till 
now, and that sometimes made a sweet, high music. 
But this was rarely ; and as far as the general duties 
of an instructor went, they did not seem to be very 
successfully performed. Something was cultivated ; 
the spiritual germ grew, it might be ; but the chil- 
dren, and especially Ned, were intuitively conscious 
of a certain want of substance in the instructor, — a 
something of earthly bulk ; a too etherealness. But 
his connection with our story does not lie in any ex- 
cellence, or lack of excellence, that he showed as an 


68 DOCTOR GRIMSH AWE'S SECRET. 

instructor, and we merely mention these things as 
illustrating more or less his characteristics. 

The grim Doctor’s curiosity was somewhat piqued 
by what he could see of the schoolmaster’s character, 
and he was desirous of finding out what sort of a life 
such a man could have led in a world which he him- 
self had found so rough a one ; through what difficul- 
ties he had reached middle age without absolutely 
vanishing away in his contact with more positive sub- 
stances than himself ; how the world had given him 
a subsistence, if indeed he recognized anything more 
dense than fragrance, like a certain people whom 
Pliny mentioned in Africa, — a point, in fact, which 
the grim Doctor denied, his performance at table 
being inappreciable, and confined, at least almost en- 
tirely, to a dish of boiled rice, wffiich crusty Hannah 
set before him, preparing it, it might be, with a sym- 
pathy of her East Indian part towards him. 

Well, Doctor Grimshawe easily got at what seemed 
to be all of the facts of Colcord’s life ; how that he 
was a Hew-Englander, the descendant of an ancient 
race of settlers, the last of them; for, once pretty 
numerous in their quarter of the country, they seemed 
to have been dying out, — exhaling from the earth, 
and passing to some other region. 

"'No wonder,” said the Doctor bluffly. “You have 
been letting slip the vital principle, if you are a fair 
specimen of the race. You do not clothe yourself in 
substance. Your souls are not coated sufficiently. 
Beef and brandy would have saved you. You have 
exhaled for lack of them.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


69 


The schoolmaster shook his head, and probably 
thought his earthly salvation and sustenance not 
worth buying at such a cost. The remainder of his 
history was not tangible enough to afford a narrative. 
There seemed, from what he said, to have always been 
a certain kind of refinement in his race, a nicety of 
conscience, a nicety of habit, which either was in itself 
a want of force, or was necessarily connected with it, 
and which, the Doctor silently thought, had culmi- 
nated in the person before him. 

It was always in us,’’ continued Colcord, with a 
certain pride which people generally feel in their an- 
cestral characteristics, be they good or evil. ‘'We 
had a tradition among us of our first emigrant, and 
the causes that brought him to the New World ; and 
it was said that he had suffered so much, before quit- 
ting his native shores, so painful had been his track, 
that always afterwards on the forest leaves of this land 
his foot left a print of blood wherever Tie trod.” ^ 


70 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE VII. 

A PRINT of blood ! ’’ said the grim Doctor, breaking 
his pipe-stem by some sudden spasm in his gripe of 
it. “ Pooh ! the devil take the pipe ! A verj^ strange 
story that ! Pray how was it ? ^ 

Nay, it is but a very dim legend,” answered the 
schoolmaster : although there are old yellow papers 
and parchments, I remember, in my father’s posses- 
sion, that had some reference to this man, too, though 
there was nothing in them about the bloody footprints. 
But our family legend is, that this man was of a good 
race, in the time of Charles the First, originally Pa- 
pists, but one of them — the second son, our legend 
says — was of a milder, sweeter cast than the rest, 
who were fierce and bloody men, of a hard, strong 
nature ; but he partook most of his mother’s charac- 
ter. This son had been one of the earliest Quakers, 
converted by George Fox; and moreover there had 
been love between him and a young lady of great 
beauty and an heiress, whom likewise the eldest son 
of the house had designed to make his wife. And 
these brothers, cruel men, caught their innocent 
brother and kept him in confinement long in his own 
native home — ” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


71 


How ? ” asked the Doctor. Why did not he 
appeal to the laws ? ’’ 

‘‘ Our legend says,” replied the schoolmaster, " only 
that he was kept in a chamber that was forgotten.” ^ 

‘Wery strange that ! ” quoth the Doctor. He was 
sold by his brethren.” 

The schoolmaster went on to tell, wdth much shud- 
dering, how a Jesuit priest had been mixed up with 
this wretched business, and there had been a scheme 
at once religious and political to wrest the estate and 
the lovely lady from the fortunate heir; and how this 
grim Italian priest had instigated them to use a 
certain kind of torture with the poor heir, and how 
he had suffered from this ; but one night, when they 
left him senseless, he contrived to make his escape 
from that cruel home, bleeding as he went ; and how, 
by some action of his imagination, — his sense of the 
cruelty and hideousness of such treatment at his 
brethren’s hands, and in the holy name of his reli- 
gion, — his foot, which had been crushed by their 
cruelty, bled as he went, and that blood had never 
been stanched. And thus he had come to America, 
and after many wanderings, and much track of blood 
along rough ways, to New England.^ 

And what became of his beloved ? ” asked the 
grim Doctor, who was puffing away at a fresh pipe 
with a very queer aspect. 

''She died in England,” replied the schoolmaster. 
" And before her death, by some means or other, they 
say that she found means to send him a child, the 


72 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


offspring of their marriage, and from that child our 
race descended. And they say, too, that she sent him 
a key to a coffin, in which was locked up a great treas- 
ure. But we have not the key. But he never went 
hack to his own country ; and being heart-broken, 
and sick and weary of the world and its pomps and 
vanities, he died here, after suffering much persecu- 
tion likewise from the Puritans. Por his peaceful 
religion was accepted nowhere.'’ 

“ Of all legends, — all foolish legends,” quoth the 
Doctor, wrathfully, with a face of a dark blood-red 
color, so much was his anger and contempt excited, 
and of all absurd heroes of a legend, I never heard 
the like of this ! Have you the key ? ” 

Ho : nor have I ever heard of it,” answered the 
schoolmaster. 

“ But you have some papers ? ” 

‘‘ They existed once : perhaps are still recoverable 
by search,” said the schoolmaster. My father knew 
of them.” 

'' A foolish legend,” reiterated the Doctor. It is 
strange how human folly strings itself on to human 
folly, as a story originally false and foolish grows 
older” 

He got up and walked about the room, with hasty 
and irregular strides and a prodigious swinging of his 
ragged dressing-gown, which swept away as many 
cobwebs as it would take a week to reproduce. After 
a few turns, as if to change the subject, the Doctor 
asked the schoolmaster if he had any taste for pic- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 73 


tures, and drew his attention to the portrait which 
has been already mentioned, — the figure in antique 
sordid garb, with a halter round his neck, and the 
expression in his face which the Doctor and the two 
children had interpreted so differently. Colcord, who 
probably knew nothing about pictures, looked at it 
at first merely from the gentle and cool complaisance 
of his character ; but becoming absorbed in the con- 
templation, stood long without speaking; until the 
Doctor, looking in his face, perceived his eyes were 
streaming with tears. 

What are you crying about ? ’’ said he, gruffly. 

''I don’t know,” said the schoolmaster quietly. 

But there is something in this picture that affects 
me inexpressibly ; so that, not being a man passionate 
by nature, I have hardly ever been so moved as now!” 

“Very foolish,” muttered the Doctor, resuming his 
strides about the room. “ I am ashamed of a grown 
man that can cry at a picture, and can’t tell the 
reason why.” 

After a few more turns he resumed his easy-chair 
and his tumbler, and, looking upward, beckoned to 
his pet spider, which came dangling downward, great 
parti-colored monster that he was, and swung about 
his master’s head in hideous conference as it seemed ; 
a sight that so distressed the schoolmaster, or shocked 
his delicate taste, that he went out, and called the 
two children to take a walk with him, with the pur- 
pose of breathing air that was neither infected with 
spiders nor graves. 


74 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


After his departure, Doctor Grimshawe seemed 
even more disturbed than during his presence : again 
he strode about the study ; then sat down with his 
hands on his knees, looking straight into the fire, as 
if it imaged the seething element of his inner man, 
where burned hot projects, smoke, heat, blackness, 
ashes, a smouldering of old thoughts, a blazing up 
of new ; casting in the gold of his mind, as Aaron 
did that of the Israelites, and waiting to see what 
sort of a thing would come out of the furnace. The 
children coming in from their play, he spoke harshly 
to them, and eyed little Ned with a sort of savage- 
ness, as if he meant to eat him up, or do some other 
dreadful deed : and when little Elsie came with her 
usual frankness to his knee, he repelled her in such 
a way that she shook her little hand at him, saying, 
Naughty Doctor Grim, what has come to you ? ” 
Through all that day, by some subtle means or 
other, the whole household knew that something was 
amiss ; and nobody in it was comfortable. It was 
like a spell of weather ; like the east wind ; like an 
epidemic in the air, that would not let anything be 
comfortable or contented, — this pervading temper of 
the Doctor. Crusty Hannah knew it in the kitchen : 
even those who passed the house must have known 
it somehow or other, and have felt a chill, an irrita- 
tion, an influence on the nerves, as they passed. The 
spiders knew it, and acted as they were wont to do 
in stormy weather. The schoolmaster, when he re- 
turned from his walk, seemed likewise to know it, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 75 


and made himself secure and secret, keeping in his 
own room, except at dinner, when he ate his rice in 
silence, without looking towards the Doctor, and ap- 
peared before him no more till evening, when the 
grim Doctor summoned him into the study, after 
sending the two children to bed. 

'"Sir,” began the Doctor, “you have spoken of 
some old documents in your possession relating to 
the English descent of your ancestors. I have a cu- 
riosity to see these documents. Where are they ? ” ^ 

“ I have them about my person,” said the school- 
master; and he produced from his pocket a bundle 
of old yellow papers done up in a parchment cover, 
tied with a piece of white cord, and presented them 
to Doctor Grimshawe, who looked over them with 
interest. They seemed to consist of letters, genea- 
logical lists, certified copies of entries in registers, 
things which must have been made out by somebody 
who knew more of business than this ethereal person 
in whose possession they now were. The Doctor 
looked at them with considerable attention, and at 
last did them hastily up in the bundle again, and 
returned them to the owner. 

“ Have you any idea what is now the condition of 
the family to whom these papers refer ? ” asked he. 

“Hone whatever, — none for almost a hundred 
years,” said the schoolmaster. “About that time 
ago, I have heard a vague story that one of my an- 
cestors went to the old country and saw tlie place. 
But, you see, the change of name has effectually 


76 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


covered ns from view ; and I feel that our true name 
is that which my ancestor assumed when he was 
driven forth from the home of his fathers, and that 
I have nothing to do with any other. I have no 
views on the estate, — none whatever. I am not so 
foolish and dreamy.” 

Very right,” said the Doctor. ‘^Nothing is more 
foolish than to follow up such a pursuit as this, 
against all the vested interests of two hundred years, 
which of themselves have built up an impenetrably 
strong allegation against you. They harden into 
stone, in England, these years, and become inde- 
structible, instead of melting away as they do in 
this happy country.” 

It is not a matter of interest with me,” replied 
the schoolmaster. 

‘"Very right, — very right!” repeated the grim 
Doctor. 

But something was evidently amiss with him this 
evening. It was impossible to feel easy and com- 
fortable in contact with him : if you looked in his 
face, there was the red, lurid glare of his eyes ; meet- 
ing you fiercely and craftily as ever : sometimes he 
bit his lip and frowned in an awful manner. Once, 
he burst out into an awful fit of swearing, for no 
good reason, or any reason whatever that he ex- 
plained, or that anybody could tell. Again, for no 
more suitable reason, he uplifted his stalwart arm, 
and smote a heavy blow with his fist upon the oak 
table, making the tumbler and black bottle leap up, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 77 


and damaging, one would think, his own knuckles. 
Then he rose up, and resumed his strides about the 
room. He paused before the portrait before men- 
tioned; then resumed his heavy, quick, irregular 
tread, swearing under his breath ; and you would 
imagine, from what you heard, that all his thoughts 
and the movement of his mind were a blasphemy. 
Then again — but this was only once — he heaved 
a deep, ponderous sigh, that seemed to come up in 
spite of him, out of his depths, an exhalation of deep 
suffering, as if some convulsion had given it a pas- 
sage to upper air, instead of its being hidden, as it 
generally was, by accumulated rubbish of later time 
heaped above it. 

This latter sound appealed to something within 
the simple schoolmaster, who had been witnessing 
the demeanor of the Doctor, like a being looking 
from another sphere into the trouble of the mortal 
one; a being incapable of passion, observing the 
mute, hard struggle of one in its grasp. 

Friend,’’ said he at length, thou hast something 
on thy mind.” 

Aye,” said the grim Doctor, coming to a stand 
before his chair. You see that ? Can you see as 
well what it is ? ” 

Some stir and writhe of something in the past 
that troubles you, as if you had kept a snake for 
many years in your bosom, and stupefied it with 
brandy, and now it awakes again, and troubles you 
with bites and stings.” 


78 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


^^What sort of a man do you think me?’’ asked 
the Doctor. 

I cannot tell,” said the schoolmaster. The sym- 
pathies of my nature are not those that should give 
me knowledge of such men.” 

“Am I, think you,” continued the grim Doctor, 
“a man capable of great crime?” 

“A great one, if any,” said Colcord; “a great 
good, likewise, it might be.” 

“What would I be likely to do,” asked Doctor 
Grim, “supposing I had a darling purpose, to the 
accomplishment of which I had given my soul, — 
yes, my soul, — my success in life, my days and 
nights of thought, my years of time, dwelling upon 
it, pledging myself to it, until at last I had grown 
to love the burden of it, and not to regret my own 
degradation ? I, a man of strongest will. What 
would I do, if this were to be resisted ? ” 

“ I do not conceive of the force of will shaping out 
my ways,” said the schoolmaster. “ I walk gently 
along and take the path that opens before me.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha!” shouted the grim Doctor, with one 
of his portentous laughs. “ So do we all, in spite of 
ourselves ; and sometimes the path comes to a sudden 
ending I ” And he resumed his drinking. 

The schoolmaster looked at him with wonder, and 
a kind of shuddering, at something so unlike him- 
self ; but probably he very imperfectly estimated the 
forces that were at work within this strange being, 
and how dangerous they made him. He imputed 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 79 


it, a great deal, to the brandy, which he had kept 
drinking in such inordinate quantities ; whereas it is 
probable that this had a soothing, emollient effect, 
as far as it went, on the Doctor’s emotions ; a sort of 
like to like, that he instinctively felt to be a remedy. 
But in truth it was difficult to see these two human 
creatures together, without feeling their incompati- 
bility ; without having a sense that one must be hos- 
tile to the other. The schoolmaster, through his fine 
instincts, doubtless had a sense of this, and sat gazing 
at the lurid, wrathful figure of the Doctor, in a sort 
of trance and fascination: not able to stir; bewil- 
dered by the sight of the great spider and other sur- 
roundings; and this strange, uncouth fiend, who had 
always been abhorrent to him, — he had a kind of 
curiosity in it, waited to see what would come of it, 
but felt it to be an unnatural state to him. And 
again the grim Doctor came and stood before him, 
prepared to make another of those strange utterances 
with which he had already so perplexed him. 

That night — that midnight — it was rumored 
through the town that one of the inhabitants, going 
home late along the street that led by the graveyard, 
saw the grim Doctor standing by the open window of 
the study behind the elm tree, in his old dressing- 
gown, chill as was the night, and flinging his arms 
abroad wildly into the darkness, and muttering like 
the growling of a tempest, with occasional vocifera- 
tions that grew even shrill with passion. The listener, 
though affrighted, could not resist an impulse to 


80 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


pause, and attempt overhearing something that might 
let him into the secret counsels of this strange wild 
man, whom the town held in such awe and antipathy ; 
to learn, perhaps, what was the great spider, and 
whether he were summoning the dead out of their 
graves. However, he could make nothing out of what 
he overheard, except it were fragmentary curses, of a 
dreadful character, which the Doctor brought up with 
might and main out of the depths of his soul, and 
flung them forth, burning hot, aimed at what, and 
why, and to what practical end, it was impossible to 
say ; but as necessarily as a volcano, in a state of 
eruption, sends forth boiling lava, sparkling and scin- 
tillating stones, and a sulphurous atmosphere, indica- 
tive of its inward state.^ 

Dreading lest some one of these ponderous anathe- 
mas should alight, reason or none, on his own head, 
the man crept away, and whispered the thing to his 
cronies, from whom it was communicated to the 
townspeople at large, and so became one of many 
stories circulating with reference to our grim hero, 
which, if not true to the fact, had undoubtedly a 
degree of appositeness to his character, of which they 
were the legitimate flowers and symbols. If the 
anathemas took no other effect, they seemed to have 
produced a very remarkable one on the unfortunate 
elm tree, through the naked branches of which the 
Doctor discharged this fiendish shot. For, the next 
spring, when April came, no tender leaves budded 
forth, no life awakened there; and never again, on that 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET, 


81 


old elm, widely as its roots were imbedded among the 
dead of many years, was there rustling bough in the 
summer time, or the elm’s early golden boughs in 
September; and after waiting till another spring to 
give it a fair chance of reviving, it was cut down and 
made into coffins, and burnt on the sexton’s hearth. 
The general opinion was that the grim Doctor’s aw- 
ful profanity had blasted that tree, fostered, as it 
had been, on grave-mould of Puritans. In Lanca- 
shire they tell of a similar anathema. It had a very 
frightful effect, it must be owned, this idea of a man 
cherishing emotions in his breast of so horrible a 
nature that he could neither tell them to any human 
being, nor keep them in their plenitude and intensity 
within the breast where they had their germ, and so 
was forced to fling them forth upon the night, to pol- 
lute and put fear into the atmosphere, and that people 
should breathe-in somewhat of horror from an un- 
known source, and be affected with nightmare, and 
dreams in which they were startled at their own 
wickedness. 


82 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

At the breakfast-table the next morning, however, 
appeared Doctor Grimshawe, wearing very much the 
same aspect of an uncombed, unshorn, uiibrushed, odd 
sort of a pagan as at other times, and making no 
difference in his breakfast, except that he poured a 
pretty large dose of brandy into his cup of tea; a 
thing, however, by no means unexampled or very un- 
usual in his history. There were also the two children, 
fresher than the morning itself, rosy creatures, with 
newly scrubbed cheeks, made over again for the new 
day, though the old one had left no dust upon them ; ^ 
laughing with one another, flinging their little jokes 
about the table, and expecting that the Doctor might, 
as was often his wont, set some ponderous old English 
joke trundling round among the breakfast cups ; eat- 
ing the corn-cakes which crusty Hannah, with the 
aboriginal part of her, had a knack of making in a 
peculiar and exquisite fashion. But there was an 
empty chair at table ; one cup, one little jug of milk, 
and another of pure water, with no guest to partake 
of them. 

Where is the schoolmaster ? ’’ said Hed, pausing 
as he was going to take his seat. 

“Yes, Doctor Grim?” said little Elsie. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


83 


“ He has overslept himself for once,” quoth Doctor 
Grim gruffly ; a strange thing, too, for a man whose 
victuals and drink are so light as the schoolmaster’s. 
The fiend take me if I thought he had mortal mould 
enough in him ever to go to sleep at all ; though he 
is but a kind of dream-stuff in his widest-awake state. 
Hannah, you bronze jade, call the schoolmaster to 
come to breakfast.” 

Hannah departed on her errand, and was heard 
knocking at the door of the schoolmaster’s chamber 
several times, till the Doctor shouted to her wrath- 
fully to cease her clatter and open the door at once, 
which she appeared to do, and speedily came back. 

‘‘He no there, inassa. Schoolmaster melted away!” 

“ Vanished like a bubble ! ” quoth the Doctor. 

“The great spider caught him like a fly,” quoth 
crusty Hannah, chuckling with a sense of mischief 
that seemed very pleasant to her strange combina- 
tion. 

“ He has taken a morning walk,” said little Ised ; 
“ don’t you think so. Doctor Grim ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the grim Doctor. “ Go on with your 
breakfast, little monkey; the walk may be a long one, 
or he is so slight a weight that the wind may blow 
him overboard.” 

A very long walk it proved ; or it might be that 
some wind, whether evil or good, had blown him, 
as the Doctor suggested, into parts unknown; for, 
from that time forth, the Yankee schoolmaster re- 
turned no more. It was a singular disappearance. 


84 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


The bed did not appear to have been slept in ; there 
was a bundle, in a clean handkerchief, containing 
two shirts, two pocket handkerchiefs, two pairs of 
cotton socks, a Testament, and that was all. Had he 
intended to go away, why did he not take this little 
luggage in his hand, being all he had, and of ^a kind 
not easily dispensed with ? The Doctor made small 
question about it, however; he had seemed sur- 
prised, at first, yet gave certainly no energetic token 
of it ; and when Ned, who began to have notions of 
things, proposed to advertise him in the newspapers, 
or send the town crier round, the Doctor ridiculed 
the idea unmercifully. 

Lost, a lank Yankee schoolmaster,'’ quoth he, 
uplifting his voice after the manner of the town 
crier ; supposed to have been blown out of Doctor 
Grim's window, or perhaps have ridden off astride of 
a humble-bee." 

^'It is not pretty to laugh in that way. Doctor 
Grim," said little Elsie, looking into his face, with a 
grave shake of her head. 

“ And why not, you saucy little witch ? " said the 
Doctor. 

''It is not the way to laugh. Doctor Grim," per- 
sisted the child, but either could not or would not 
assign any reason for her disapprobation, although 
what she said appeared to produce a noticeable effect 
on Doctor Grimshawe, who lapsed into a rough, 
harsh manner, that seemed to satisfy Elsie better. 
Crusty Hannah, meanwhile, seemed to dance about 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 85 


the house with a certain singular alacrity, a wonder- 
ful friskiness, indeed, as if the diabolical result of the 
mixture in her nature was particularly pleased with 
something; so she went, with queer gesticulations, 
crossings, contortions, friskings, evidently in a very 
mirthful state; until, being asked by her master 
what was the matter, she replied, Massa, me know 
what became of the schoolmaster. Great spider catch 
in his web and eat him ! '' 

Whether that was the mode of his disappearance, 
or some other, certainly the schoolmaster was gone ; 
and the children were left in great bewilderment at 
the sudden vacancy in his place. They had not con- 
tracted a very yearning affection for him, and yet 
his impression had been individual and real, and they 
felt that something was gone out of their lives, now 
that he was no longer there. Something strange in 
their circumstances made itself felt by them ; they 
were more sensible of the grim Doctor s uncouthness, 
his strange, reprehensible habits, his dark, mysterious 
life, — in looking at these things, and the spiders, and 
the graveyard, and their insulation from the world, 
through the crystal medium of this stranger's character. 
In remembering him in connection with these things, 
a certain seemly beauty in him showed strikingly the 
unfitness, the sombre and tarnished color, the outre - 
ness, of the rest of their lot. Little Elsie perhaps 
felt the loss of him more than her playmate, although 
both had been interested by him. But now things 
returned pretty much to their old fashion ; although. 


86 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


as is inevitably the case, whenever persons or things 
have been taken suddenly or unaccountably out of 
our sphere, without telling us whither and why they 
have disappeared, the children could not, for a long 
while,* bring themselves to feel that he had really 
gone. Perhaps, in imitation of the custom in that 
old English house, of which the Doctor had told 
them, little Elsie insisted that his place should still 
be kept at the table ; and so, whenever crusty Han- 
nah neglected to do so, she herself would fetch a 
plate, and a little pitcher of water, and set it beside 
a vacant chair ; and sometimes, so like a shadow had 
he been, this pale, slender creature, it almost might 
have been thought that he was sitting with them. 
But crusty Hannah shook her head, and grinned. 
‘‘The spider know where he is. We never see him 
more ! ” 

His abode in the house had been of only two or 
three weeks ; and in the natural course of things, had 
he come and gone in an ordinary way, his recollec- 
tion would have grown dim and faded out in two or 
three weeks more ; but the speculations, the expecta- 
tions, the watchings for his reappearance, served to 
cut and grave the recollection of him into the chil- 
dren’s hearts, so that it remained a life-long thing 
with them, — a sense that he was something that had 
been lost out of their life too soon, and that was 
bound, sooner or later, to reappear, and finish what 
business he had with them. Sometimes they prat- 
tled around the Doctor’s chair about him, and they 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


87 


could perceive sometimes that he appeared to be lis- 
tening, and would chime in with some remark ; but 
he never expressed either wonder or regret; only 
telling ISTed, once, that he had no reason to be sorry 
for his disappearance. 

‘‘ Why, Doctor Grim ? '' asked the boy. 

The Doctor mused, and smoked his pipe, as if he 
himself were thinking why, and at last he answered, 
'' He was a dangerous fellow, my old boy.’’ 

« Why ? ” said Ned again. 

“ He would have taken the beef out of you,” said 
the Doctor. 

I know not how long it was before any other •vis- 
itor (except such as brought their shattered constitu- 
tions there in hopes that the Doctor would make the 
worn-out machinery as good as new) came to the 
lonely little household on the corner of the grave- 
yard. The intercourse between themselves and the 
rest of the town remained as scanty as ever. Still, 
the grim, shaggy Doctor was seen setting doggedly 
forth, in all seasons and all weathers, at a certain 
hour of the day, with the two children, going for long 
walks on the sea-shore, or into the country, miles 
away, and coming back, hours afterwards, with plants 
and herbs that had perhaps virtue in them, or flowers 
that had certainly beauty ; even, in their season, the 
fragrant magnolias, leaving a trail of fragrance after 
them, that grow only in spots, the seeds having been 
apparently dropped by some happy accident when 
those proper to the climate were distributed. Shells 


88 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


there were, also, in the baskets that they carried, 
minerals, rare things, that a magic touch seemed to 
have created out of the rude and common things that 
others find in a homely and ordinary region. The 
boy was growing tall, and had got out of the merely 
infantile age ; agile he was, bright, but still with a 
remarkable thoughtfulness, or gravity, or I know not 
what to call it ; but it was a shadow, no doubt, fall- 
ing upon him from something sombre in his warp of 
life, which the impressibility of his age and nature so 
far acknowledged as to be a little pale and grave, 
without positive unhappiness ; and when a playful 
moment came, as they often did to these two healthy 
children, it seemed all a mistake that you had ever 
thought either of them too grave for their age. But 
little Elsie was still the merrier. They were still 
children, although they quarrelled seldomer than of 
yore, and kissed seldomer, and had ceased altogether 
to complain of one another to the Doctor; perhaps 
the time when Nature saw these bickerings to be 
necessary to the growth of some of their faculties 
was nearly gone. When they did have a quarrel, the 
boy stood upon his dignity, and visited Elsie with a 
whole day, sometimes, of silent and stately displeas- 
ure, which she was accustomed to bear, sometimes 
with an assumption of cold indifference, sometimes 
with liveliness, mirth in double quantity, laughter 
almost as good as real, — little arts which showed 
themselves in her as naturally as the gift of tears 
and smiles. In fact, having no advantage of female 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


89 


intercourse, she could not well have learnt them 
unless from crusty Hannah, who was such an anom- 
aly of a creature, with all her mixtures of race, that 
she struck you as having lost all sex as one result of 
it. Yet this little girl was truly feminine, and had 
all the manners and pre-eminently uncriticisable 
tenets proper to women at her early age. 

She had made respectable advancement in study ; 
that is, she had taught herself to write, with even 
greater mechanical facility than Ned; and other 
knowledge had fallen upon her, as it were, by a re- 
flected light from him ; or, to use another simile, had 
been spattered upon her by the full stream which the 
Doctor poured into the vessel of the boy’s intellect. 
So that she had even some knowledge of the rudi- 
ments of Latin, ’^ahd geometry, and algebra ; inaccurate 
enough, but yet with such a briskness that she was 
sometimes able to assist l^ed in studies in which he 
was far more deeply grounded than herself. All this, 
however, was more by sympathy than by any natural 
taste for such things ; being kindly, and sympathetic, 
and impressible, she took the color of what was near- 
est to her, and especially when it came from a beloved 
object, so that it was difficult to discover that it was 
not really one of her native tastes. The only thing, 
perhaps, altogether suited to her idiosyncrasy (because 
it was truly feminine, calculated for dainty fingers, 
and a nice little subtlety) was that kind of embroi- 
dery, twisting, needle-work, on textile fabric, which, as 
we have before said, she learnt from crusty Hannah, 


90 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


and whicli was emblematic perhaps of that creature’s 
strange mixture of races. 

Elsie seemed not only to have caught this art in its 
original spirit, but to have improved upon it, creating 
strange, fanciful, and graceful devices, Avhich grew 
beneath her finger as naturally as the variegated hues 
grow in a flower as it opens ; so that the homeliest 
material assumed a grace and strangeness as she wove 
it, whether it were grass, twigs, shells, or what not. 
Never was anything seen, that so combined a wild, 
barbarian freedom with cultivated grace ; and the 
grim Doctor himself, little open to the impressions of 
the beautiful, used to hold some of her productions in 
his hand, gazing at them with deep inteiitness, and at 
last, perhaps, breaking out into one of his deep roars 
of laughter ; for it seemed to suggest thoughts to him 
that the children could not penetrate. This one fea- 
ture of strangeness and wild faculty in the otherwise 
sweet and natural and homely character of Elsie had 
a singular effect ; it was like a wreath of wild-flowers 
in her hair, like something that set her a little way 
apart from the rest of the world, and had an even more 
striking effect than if she were altogether strange. 

Thus were the little family going on ; the Doctor, 
I regret to say, growing more morose, self-involved, 
and unattainable since the disappearance of the 
schoolmaster than before ; more given up to his one 
plaything, the great spider ; less frequently even than 
before coming out of the grim seclusion of his moodi- 
ness, to play with the children, though they would 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. ^ 91 


often be sensible of bis fierce eyes fixed upon them, 
and start and feel incommoded by the intensity of his 
regard; — thus things were going on, when one day 
there was really again a visitor, and not a dilapidated 
patient, to the grim Doctor’s study. Crusty Hannah 
brought up his name as Mr. Hammond, and the Doc- 
tor — filling his everlasting pipe, meanwhile, and or- 
dering Hannah to give him a coal (perhaps this was 
the circumstance that made people say he had imps 
to bring him coals from Tophet) — ordered him to 
be shown up.^ 

A fresh-colored, rather young inan^ entered the 
study, a person of rather cold and ungraceful manners, 
yet genial-looking enough ; at least, not repulsive. He 
was dressed in rather a rough, serviceable travelling- 
dress, and except for a nicely brushed hat, and unmis- 
takably white linen, was rather careless in attire. You 
would have thought twice, perhaps, before deciding 
him to be a gentleman, but finally would have decided 
that he was; one great token being, that the singular 
aspect of the room into which he was ushered, the 
spider festoonery, and other strange accompaniments, 
the grim aspect of the Doctor himself, and the beauty 
and intelligence of his two companions, and even 
that horrific weaver, the great dangling spider, — 
neither one nor all of these called any expression of 
surprise to the stranger’s face. 

Your name is Hammond ? ” begins the Doctor, 
with his usual sparseness of ornamental courtesy.^ 

The stranger bowed. 


92 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


An Englishman, I perceive,” continued the Doc- 
tor, but nowise intimating that the fact of being a 
countryman was any recommendation in his eyes. 

Yes, an Englishman,” replied Hammond ; a 
briefless barrister,^ in fact, of Lincoln’s Inn, who, 
having little or nothing to detain him at home, has 
come to spend a few idle months in seeing the new 
republic which has been made out of English sub- 
stance.” 

And what,” continued Doctor Grim, not a whit 
relaxing the repulsiveness of his manner, and scowl- 
ing askance at the stranger, — ''what may have drawn 
on me the good fortune of being compelled to make 
my time idle, because yours is so ? ” 

The stranger’s cheek flushed a little ; but he smiled 
to himself, as if saying that here was a grim, rude 
kind of humorist, who had lost the sense of his own 
peculiarity, and had no idea that he was rude at 
all. " I came to America, as I told you,” said he, 
" chiefly because I was idle, and wanted to turn my 
enforced idleness to what profit I could, in the way 
of seeing men, manners, governments, and problems, 
which I hope to have no time to study by and by. 
But I also had an errand intrusted to me, and of a 
singular nature ; and making inquiry in this little 
town (where my mission must be performed, if at 
all), I have been directed to you, by your towns- 
people, as to a person not unlikely to be able to assist 
me in it.” 

" My townspeople, since you choose to call them 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


93 


so,” answered the grim Doctor, ought to know, by 
this time, that I am not the sort of man likely to 
assist any person, in any way.” 

" Yet this is so singular an affair,” said the stranger, 
still with mild courtesy, “ that at least it may excite 
your curiosity. I have come here to find a grave.” 

To find a grave ! ” said Doctor Grim, giving way 
to a grim sense of humor, and relaxing just enough 
to let out a joke, the tameness of which was a little 
redeemed, to his taste, by its grimness. I might 
help you there, to be sure, since it is all in the way 
of business. Like others of my profession, I have 
helped many people to find their graves, no doubt, 
and shall be happy to do the same for you. You 
have hit upon the one thing in which my services 
are ready.” 

“I thank you, my dear sir,” said the young 
stranger, having tact enough to laugh at Dr. Grim’s 
joke, and thereby mollifying him a little ; but as 
far as I am personally concerned, I prefer to wait a 
while before making the discovery of that little spot 
in Mother Earth which I am destined to occupy. 
It is a grave which has been occupied as such for at 
least a century and a half which I am in quest of ; 
and it is as an antiquarian, a genealogist, a person 
who has had dealings with the dead of long ago, 
not as a professional man engaged in adding to their 
number, that I ask your aid.” 

Ah, ahah ! ” said the Doctor, laying down his 
pipe, and looking earnestly at the stranger; not kindly 


94 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

nor genially, but rather with a lurid glance of suspi- 
cion out of those red eyes of his, but no longer with 
a desire to escape an intruder; rather as one who 
meant to clutch him. ‘‘ Explain your meaning, sir, 
at once.” 

“ Then here it is,” said Mr. Hammond. There is 
an old English family, one of the members of which, 
very long ago, emigrated to this part of America, 
then a wilderness, and long afterwards a British col- 
ony. He was on ill terms with his family. There 
is reason to believe that documents, deeds, titular 
proofs, or some other thing valuable to the family, 
were buried in the grave of this emigrant ; and there 
have been various attempts, within a century, to find 
this grave, and if possible some living descendant of 
the man, or both, under the idea that either of these 
cases might influence the disputed descent of the 
property, and enable the family to prove its claims 
to an ancient title. Now, rather as a matter of 
curiosity, than with any real hope of success, — and 
being slightly connected with the family, — I have 
taken what seems to myself a wild-goose chase ; mak- 
ing it merely incidental, you well understand, not 
by any means the main purpose of my voyage to 
America.” 

What is the name of this family ? ” asked the 
Doctor, abruptly. 

“The man whose grave I seek,” said the stranger, 
“ lived and died, in this country, under the assumed 
name of Colcord.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


95 


How do you expect to succeed in this ridiculous 
quest ? ” asked the Doctor, “ and what marks, signs, 
directions, have you to guide your search ? And 
moreover, how have you come to any knowledge 
whatever about the matter, even that the emigrant 
ever assumed this name of Colcord, and that he was 
buried anywhere, and that his place of burial, after 
more than a century, is of the slightest importance ? ” 

All this was ascertained by a messenger on a sim- 
ilar errand with my own, only undertaken nearly a 
century ago, and more in earnest than I can pretend 
to be,’’ replied the Englishman. ‘^At that period, 
however, there was probably a desire to find nothing 
that might take the hereditary possessions of the fam- 
ily out of the branch which still held them ; and there 
is strong reason to suspect that the information ac- 
quired was purposely kept secret by the person in 
England into whose hands it came. The thing is 
differently situated now ; the possessor of the estate 
is recently dead ; and the discovery of an American 
heir would not be unacceptable to many. At all 
events, any knowledge gained here would throw light 
on a somewhat doubtful matter.” 

Where, as nearly as you can judge,” said the 
Doctor, after a turn or two through the study, was 
this man buried ? ” 

He spent the last years of his life, certainly, in 
this town,” said Hammond, '' and may be found, if at 
all, among the dead of that period.” 

“ And they — their miserable dust, at least, which 


96 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


is all that still exists of them — were buried in the 
graveyard under these windows,” said the Doctor. 
‘‘ What marks, I say, — for you might as well seek a 
vanished wave of the sea, as a grave that surged up- 
ward so long ago.” 

" On the gravestone,” said Hammond, a slate 
one, there was rudely sculptured the impress of 
a foot. What it signifies I cannot conjecture, ex- 
cept it had some reference to a certain legend of a 
bloody footstep, which is currently told, and some 
token of which yet remains on one of the thresholds 
of the ancient mansion-house. 

Ned and Elsie had withdrawn themselves from the 
immediate vicinity of the fireside, and were playing 
at fox and geese in a corner near the window. But 
little Elsie, having very quick ears, and a faculty of 
attending to more affairs than one, now called out. 
Doctor Grim, Ned and I know where that grave- 
stone is.” 

Hush, Elsie,” whispered Ned, earnestly. 

‘'Come forward here, both of you,” said Doctor 
Grimshawe. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 97 


CHAPTEE IX. 

The two children approached, and stood before the 
Doctor and his guest, the latter of whom had not 
hitherto taken particular notice of them. He now 
looked from one to the other, with the pleasant, genial 
expression of a person gifted with a natural liking for 
children, and the freemasonry requisite to bring him 
acquainted with them ; and it lighted up his face with 
a pleasant surprise to see two such beautiful speci- 
mens of boyhood and girlhood in this dismal, spider- 
haunted house, and under the guardianship of such 
a savage lout as the grim Doctor. Pie seemed par- 
ticularly struck by the intelligence and sensibility of 
Ned's face, and met his eyes with a glance that Ned 
long afterwards remembered ; but yet he seemed quite 
as much interested by Elsie, and gazed at her face 
with a perplexed, inquiring glance. 

These are fine children,” said he. ‘‘ May I ask if 
they are your own ? — Pardon me if I ask amiss,” 
added he, seeing a frown on the Doctor’s brow. 

''Ask nothing about the brats,” replied he, grimly. 
" Thank Heaven, they are not my children ; so your 
question is answered.” 

" I again ask pardon,” said Mr. Hammond. " I am 
fond of children ; and the boy has a singularly fine 
7 


98 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


countenance ; not in the least English. The true 
American face, no doubt. As to this sweet little girl, 
she impresses me with a vague resemblance to some 
person I have seen. Hers I should deem an English 
face.” 

‘‘ These children are not our topic,” said the grim 
Doctor, with gruff impatience. “ If they are to be so, 
our conversation is ended. Ned, what do you know 
of this gravestone with the bloody foot on it ? ” 

" It is not a bloody foot. Doctor Grim,” said Ned, 
and I am not sure that it is a foot at all ; only Elsie 
and I chose to fancy so, because of a story that we 
used to play at. But we were children then. The 
gravestone lies on the ground, within a little bit of a 
walk of our door ; but this snow has covered it all 
over ; else we might go out and see it.” 

“We will go out at any rate,” said the Doctor, “and 
if the Englishman chooses to come to America, he 
must take our snows as he finds them. Take your 
shovel, Ned, and if necessary we will uncover the 
gravestone.” 

They accordingly muffled themselves in their warm- 
est, and plunged forth through a back door into Ned 
and Elsie’s playground, as the grim Doctor was wont 
to call it. The snow, except in one spot close at 
hand, lay deep, like cold oblivion, over the surging 
graves, and piled itself in drifted heaps against every 
stone that raised itself above the level ; it filled envi- 
ously the letters of the inscriptions, enveloping all 
the dead in one great winding-sheet, whiter and colder 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


99 


than those which they had individually worn. The 
dreary space was pathless ; not a footstep had tracked 
through the heavy snow ; for it must be warm affec- 
tion indeed that could so melt this wintry impression 
as to penetrate through the snow and frozen earth, . 
and establish any warm thrills with the dead beneath : 
daisies, grass, genial earth, these allow of the magnet- 
ism of such sentiments ; but winter sends them shiv- 
ering back to the baffled heart. 

"Well, Ned,’’ said the Doctor, impatiently. 

Ned looked about him somewhat bewildered, and 
then pointed to a spot within not more than ten paces 
of the threshold which they had just crossed; and 
there appeared, not a gravestone, but a new grave 
(if any grave could be called new in that often-dug 
soil, made up of old mortality), an open hole, with 
the freshly-dug earth piled up beside it. A little 
snow (for there had been a gust or two since morn- 
ing) appeared, as they peeped over the edge, to have 
fallen into it; but not enough to prevent a coffin from 
finding fit room and accommodation in it. But it 
was evident that the grave had been dug that very 
day. 

"The headstone, with the foot on it, was just 
here,” said Ned, in much perplexity, " and, as far as I 
can judge, the old sunken grave exactly marked out 
the space of this new one.” ^ 

" It is a shame,” said Elsie, much shocked at the 
indecorum, " that the new person should be thrust in 
here ; for the old one was a friend of ours.” 


100 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


But what has become of the headstone ! ” ex- 
claimed the young English stranger. 

During their perplexity, a person had approached 
the group, wading through the snow from the gateway 
giving entrance from the street ; a gaunt figure, with 
stooping shoulders, over one of which was a spade 
and some other tool fit for delving in the earth ; and 
in his face there was the sort of keen, humorous 
twinkle that grave-diggers somehow seem to get, as if 
the dolorous character of their business necessitated 
something unlike itself by an inevitable reaction. 

"‘Well, Doctor,” said he, with a shrewd wink in his 
face, “ are you looking for one of your patients ? The 
man who is to be put to bed here was never caught 
in your spider’s web.” 

“No,” said Doctor Grimshawe ; “when my patients 
have done with me, I leave them to you and the old 
Nick, and never trouble myself about them more. 
What I want to know is, why you have taken upon 
you to steal a man’s grave, after he has had immemo- 
rial possession of it. By what right have you dug 
up this bed, undoing the work of a predecessor of 
yours, who has long since slept in one of his own 
furrows ? ” 

“ Why, Doctor,” said the grave-digger, looking qui- 
etly into the cavernous pit which he had hollowed, 
“it is against common sense that a dead man should 
think to keep a grave to himself longer than till you 
can take up his substance in a shovel. It would be 
a strange thing enough, if, when living families are 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 101 


turned out of tlieir homes twice or thrice in a genera- 
tion, (as they are likely to be in our new government,) 
a dead man should think he must sleep in one spot 
till the day of judgment. No ; turn about, I say, to 
these old fellows. As long as they can decently be 
called dead men, I let them lie ; when they are noth- 
ing but dust, I just take leave to stir them on occasion. 
This is the way we do things under the republic, 
whatever your customs be in the old country.’* 

“ Matters are very much the same in any old Eng- 
lish churchyard,” said the English stranger. ‘"But, 
my good friend, I have come three thousand miles, 
partly to find this grave, and am a little disappointed 
to find my labor lost.” 

Ah ! and you are the man my father was looking 
for,” said the grave-digger, nodding his head at Mr. 
Hammond. My father, who was a grave-digger 
afore me, died four and thirty years ago, when we 
were under the King ; and says he, " Ebenezer, do not 
you turn up a sod in this spot, till you have turned 
up every other in the ground.’ And I have always 
obeyed him.” 

And what was the reason of such a singular pro- 
hibition ? ” asked Hammond. 

My fatlier knew,” said the grave-digger, and he 
told me the reason too ; but since we are under the 
republic, we have given up remembering those old- 
world legends, as we used to. The newspapers keep 
us from talking in the chimney-corner ; and so things 
go out of our minds. An old man, with his stories 


102 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


of what he has seen, and what his great-grandfather 
saw before him, is of little account since newspapers 
came up. Stop — I remember — no, I forget, — it 
was something about the grave holding a witness, 
who had been sought before and might be again.” 

‘‘ And that is all you know about it ? ” said Ham- 
mond. 

All, — every mite,'’ said the old grave-digger. 
'' But my father knew, and would have been glad to 
tell you the whole story. There was a great deal 
of wisdom and knowledge, about graves especially, 
buried out yonder where my old father was put away, 
before the Stamp Act was thought of. But it is no 
great matter, I suppose. People don’t care about old 
graves in these times. They just live, and put the 
dead out of sight and out of mind.” 

‘'Well; but what have you done with the head- 
stone ? ” said the Doctor. “ You can’t have eaten 
it up.” 

“Ho, no. Doctor,” said the grave-digger, laughing; 
“ it would crack better teeth than mine, old and crum- 
bly as it is. And yet I meant to do something with 
it that is akin to eating; for my oven needs a new 
floor, and I thought to take this stone, which would 
stand the Are well. But here,” continued he, scrap- 
ing away the snow with his shovel, a task in which 
little Hed gave his assistance, — “ here is the head- 
stone, just as I have always seen it, and as my father 
saw it before me.” 

The ancient memorial, being cleared of snow, proved 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 103 

to be a slab of freestone, with some rude traces of 
carving in bas-relief around the border, now much 
effaced, and an impression, which seemed to be as 
much like a human foot as anything else, sunk into 
the slab; but this device was wrought in a much 
more clumsy way than the ornamented border, and 
evidently by an unskilful hand. Beneath was an in- 
scription, over which the hard, flat lichens had grown, 
and done their best to obliterate it, although the fol- 
lowing words might be written ^ or guessed : — 
‘'Here lyeth the mortal part of Thomas Colcord, 
an upright man, of tender and devout soul, who de- 
parted this troublous life September y® nineteenth, 
1667, aged 57 years and nine months. Happier in 
his death than in his lifetime. Let his bones be.'’ 

The name, Colcord, was somewhat defaced ; it was 
impossible, in the general disintegration of the stone, 
to tell whether wantonly, or with a purpose of alters 
ing and correcting some error in the spelling, or, as 
occurred to Hammond, to change the name entirely. 

“This is very unsatisfactory,” said Hammond, 
“but very curious, too. But this certainly is the 
impress of what was meant for a human foot, and 
coincides strangely with the legend of the Bloody 
Footstep, — the mark of the foot that trod in the 
blessed King Charles's blood.” 

“ For that matter,” said the grave-digger, “ it comes 
into my mind that my father used to call it the stamp 
of Satan's foot, because he claimed the dead man for 
his own. It is plain to see that there was a deep 
cleft between two of the toes.” 


104 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


There are two ways of telling that legend/’ re- 
marked the Doctor. But did you find nothing in 
the grave, Hewen ? ” 

0, yes, — a bone or two, — as much as could be 
expected after above a hundred years,” said the 
grave-digger. '' I tossed them aside ; and if you are 
curious about them, you will find them when the 
snow melts. That was all ; and it would have been 
unreasonable in old Colcord — especially in these 
republican times — to have wanted to keep his grave 
any longer, when there was so little of him left.” 

I must drop the matter here, then,” said Ham- 
mond, with a sigh. Here, my friend, is a trifle for 
your trouble.” 

‘"Ho trouble,” said the grave-digger, “and in these 
republican times we can’t take anything for nothing, 
because it won’t do for a poor man to take off his hat 
and say thank you.” 

Nevertheless, he did take the silver, and winked a 
sort of acknowledgment. 

The Doctor, with unwonted hospitality, invited the 
English stranger to dine in his house ; and though 
there was no pretence of cordiality in the invitation, 
Mr. Hammond accepted it, being probably influenced 
by curiosity to make out some definite idea of the 
strange household in which he found himself Doc- 
tor Grimshawe having taken it upon him to be host, 
— for, up to this time, the stranger stood upon his 
own responsibility, and, having voluntarily presented 
himself to the Doctor, had only himself to thank for 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 105 


any scant courtesy he might meet, — hut now the 
grim Doctor became genial after his own fashion. 
At dinner he produced a bottle of port, which made 
the young Englishman almost fancy himself on the 
other side of the water ; and he entered into a con- 
versation, which I fancy was the chief object which 
the grim Doctor had in view in showing himself in 
so amiable a light,^ for in the course of it the stran- 
ger was insensibly led to disclose many things, as it 
were of his own accord, relating to the part of Eng- 
land whence he came, and especially to the estate and 
family which have been before mentioned, — the pres- 
ent state of that family, together with other things that 
he seemed to himself to pour out naturally^ — for, at 
last, he drew himself up, and attempted an excuse. 

‘‘Your good wine,” said he, “or the unexpected 
accident of meeting a countryman, has made me 
unusually talkative, and on subjects, I fear, which 
have not a particular interest for you.” 

“I have not quite succeeded in shaking off my 
country, as you see,” said Doctor Grimshawe, “ though 
I neither expect nor wish ever to see it again.” 

There was something rather ungracious in the grim 
Doctor’s response, and as they now adjourned to his 
study, and the Doctor betook himself to his pipe and 
tumbler, the young Englishman sought to increase 
his acquaintance with the two children, both of whom 
showed themselves graciously inclined towards him ; 
more warmly so than they had been to the school- 
master, as he was the only other guest whom they 
had ever met. 


106 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


Would you like to see England, my little fellow 
he inquired of Ned. 

Oh, very much ! more than, anything else in the 
world,” replied the boy; his eyes gleaming and his 
cheeks flushing with the earnestness of his response ; 
for, indeed, the question stirred up all the dreams and 
reveries which the child had cherished, far back into 
the dim regions of his memory. After what the Doc- 
tor had told him of his origin, he had never felt any 
home feeling here; it seemed to him that he was 
wandering Ned, whom the wind had blown from afar. 
Somehow or other, from many circumstances which 
he put together and seethed in his own childish im- 
agination, it seemed to him that he was to go back to 
that far old country, and there wander among the 
green, ivy-grown, venerable scenes ; the older he grew, 
the more his mind took depth, the stronger was this 
fancy in him ; though even to Elsie he had scarcely 
breathed it. 

So strong a desire,” said the stranger, smiling at 
his earnestness, will be sure to work out its own 
accomplishment. I shall meet you in England, my 
young friend, one day or another. And you, my 
little girl, are you as anxious to see England as your 
brother ? ” 

Ned is not my brother,” said little Elsie. 

The Doctor here interposed some remark on a dif- 
ferent subject; for it was observable that he never 
liked to have the conversation turn on these children, 
their parentage, or relations to each other or himself. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 107 


The children were sent to bed ; and the young Eng- 
lishman, finding the conversation lag, and his host 
becoming gruffer and less communicative than he 
thought quite courteous, retired. But before he 
went, however, he could not refrain from making a 
remark on the gigantic spider, which was swinging 
like a pendulum above the Doctor’s head. 

‘‘ What a singular pet ! ” said he ; for the nervous 
part of him had latterly been getting uppermost, so 
that it disturbed him ; in fact, the spider above and 
the grim man below equally disturbed him. '' Are 
you a naturalist ? Have you noted his habits ? ” 

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “I have learned from his 
web how to weave a plot, and how to catch my vic- 
tim and devour him ! ” 

“ Thank God,” said the Englishman, as he issued 
forth into the cold gray night, “ I have escaped the 
grim fellow’s web, at all events. How strange a 
group, — those two sweet children, that grim old 
man!” 

As regards this matter of the ancient grave, it re- 
mains to be recorded, that, when the snow melted, 
little Hed and Elsie went to look at the spot, where, 
by this time, there was a little hillock with the brown 
sods laid duly upon it, which the coming spring 
would make green. By the side of it they saw, with 
more curiosity than repugnance, a few fragments of 
crumbly bones, which they plausibly conjectured to 
have appertained to some part of the framework of 
the ancient Colcord, wherewith he had walked through 


108 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


the troublous life of which his gravestone spoke. 
And little Elsie, whose eyes were very sharp, and 
her observant qualities of the quickest, found some- 
thing which Ned at first pronounced to be only a bit 
of old iron, incrusted with earth ; but Elsie persisted 
to knock off some of the earth that seemed to have 
incrusted it, and discovered a key. The children 
ran with their prize to the grim Doctor, who took it 
between his thumb and finger, turned it over and 
over, and then proceeded to rub it with a chemical 
substance which soon made it bright. It proved 
to be a silver key, of antique and curious work- 
manship. 

Perhaps this is what Mr. Hammond was in search 
of,” said Ned. ‘‘ What a pity he is gone ! Perhaps 
we can send it after him.” 

Nonsense,” said the gruff Doctor. 

And attaching the key to a chain, which he took 
from a drawer, and which seemed to be gold, he 
hung it round Ned’s neck. 

'‘When you find a lock for this key,” said he, 
“open it, and consider yourself heir of whatever 
treasure is revealed there ! ” 

Ned continued that sad, fatal habit of growing out 
of childhood, as boys will, until he was now about 
ten years old, and little Elsie as much as six or 
seven. He looked healthy, but pale; something 
there was in the character and influences of his life 
that made him look as if he were growing up in a 
shadow, with less sunshine than he needed for a 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 109 


robust and exubemnt development, though enough 
to make his intellectual growth tend towards a little 
luxuriance, in some directions. He was likely to 
turn out a fanciful, perhaps a poetic youth ; young as 
he was, there had been already discoveries, on the 
grim Doctor's part, of certain blotted and clumsily 
scrawled scraps of paper, the chirography on which 
was arrayed in marshalled lines of unequal length, 
and each commanded by a capital letter and march- 
ing on from six to ten lame feet. Doctor Grim 
inspected these things curiously, and to say the truth 
most scornfully, before he took them to light his 
pipe withal; but they told him little as regarded 
this boy’s internal state, being mere echoes, and very 
lugubrious ones, of poetic strains that were floating 
about in the atmosphere of that day, long before 
any now remembered bard had begun to sing. But 
there were the rudiments of a poetic and imagina- 
tive mind within the boy, if its subsequent culture 
should be such as the growth of that delicate flower 
requires; a brooding habit taking outward things 
into itself and imbuing them with its own essence 
until, after they had lain there awhile, they assumed 
a relation both to truth and to himself, and became 
mediums to affect other minds with the magnetism 
of his own. He lived far too much an inward life 
for healthfulness, at his age; the peculiarity of his 
situation, a child of mystery, with certain reaches 
and vistas that seemed to promise a bright solu- 
tion of his mystery, keeping his imagination always 


110 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


awake and strong. That castle in the air, — so 
much more vivid than other castles, because it had 
perhaps a real substance of ancient, ivy-grown, hewn 
stone somewhere, — that visionary hall in England, 
with its surrounding woods and fine lawns, and the 
beckoning shadows at the ancient windows, and that 
fearful threshold, with the blood still glistening on it, 
— he dwelt and wandered so much there, that he 
had no real life in the sombre house on the corner 
of the graveyard; except that the loneliness of the 
latter, and the grim Doctor with his grotesque sur- 
roundings, and then the great ugly spider, and that 
odd, inhuman mixture of crusty Hannah, all served 
to remove him out of the influences of common life. 
Little Elsie was all that he had to keep life real, and 
substantial ; and she, a child so much younger than 
he, was influenced by the same circumstances, and 
still more by himself, so that, as far as he could im- 
part himself to her, he led her hand in hand through 
the same dream-scenery amid which he strayed him- 
self. They knew not another child in town ; the 
grim Doctor was their only friend. As for Ned, this 
seclusion had its customary and normal effect upon 
him ; it had made him think ridiculously high of his 
own gifts, powers, attainments, and at the same time 
doubt whether they would pass with those of others ; 
it made him despise all flesh, as if he were of a 
superior race, and yet have an idle and weak fear of 
coming in contact with them, from a dread of his 
incompetency to cope with them; so he at once 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. Ill 


depreciated and exalted, to an absurd degree, both 
himself and others. 

"'hTed,'' said the Doctor to him one day, in his 
gruffest tone, you are not turning out to be the boy 
I looked for and meant to make. I have given you 
sturdy English instruction, and solidly grounded you 
in matters that the poor superficial people and time 
merely skim over ; I looked to see the rudiments of 
a man in you, by this time ; and you begin to mope 
and pule as if your babyhood were coming back on 
you. You seem to think more than a boy of your 
years should ; and yet it is not manly thought, nor 
ever will be so. What do you mean, boy, by making 
all my care of you come to nothing, in this way ? ” 
do my best, Doctor Grim,’^ said Ned, with sul- 
len dignity. What you teach me, I learn. What 
more can I do ? ” 

I ’ll tell you what, my fine fellow,” quoth Doctor 
Grim, getting rude, as was his habit. You disap- 
point me, and I ’ll not bear it. I want you to be a 
man ; and I ’ll have you a man or nothing. If I had 
foreboded such a fellow as you turn out to be, I never 
would have taken you from the place where, as I 
once told you, I found you, — the almshouse ! ” 

0, Doctor Grim, Doctor Grim ! ” cried little 
Elsie, in a tone of grief and bitter reproach. 

Ned had risen slowly, as the Doctor uttered those 
last words, turning as white as a sheet, and stood 
gazing at him, with large eyes, in which there was a 
calm upbraiding ; a strange dignity was in his child- 


112 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


ish aspect, which was no longer childish, but seemed 
to have grown older all in a moment. 

^'Sir,’’ added the Doctor, incensed at the boy’s 
aspect, “ there is nonsense that ought to be whipt 
out of you.” 

“ You have said enough, sir,” said the boy. Would 
to God you had left me where you found me ! ^ It 
was not my fault that you took me from the alms- 
house. But it will be my fault if I ever eat another 
bit of your bread, or stay under your roof an hour 
longer.” 

He was moving towards the door, but little Elsie 
sprung upon him and caught him round the neck, 
although he repelled her with severe dignity; and 
Doctor Grimshawe, after a look at the group in which 
a bitter sort of mirth and mischief struggled with a 
better and kindlier sentiment, at last flung his pipe 
into the chimney, hastily quaffed the remnant of a 
tumbler, and shuffled after Ned, kicking off his old 
slippers in his hurry. He caught the boy just by 
the door. 

Ned, Ned, my boy, I’m sorry for what I said,’' 
cried he. I am a guzzling old blockhead, and don’t 
know how to treat a gentleman when he honors me 
with his company. It is not in my blood nor breed- 
ing to have such knowledge. Ned, you will make a 
man, and I lied if I said otherwise. Come, I’m 
sorry, I’m sorry.” 

The boy was easily touched, at these years, as a 
boy ought to be ; and though he had not yet for- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 113 


given the grim Doctor, the tears, to his especial 
shame, gushed out of his eyes in a torrent, and his 
whole frame shook with sobs. The Doctor caught 
him in his arms, and hugged him to his old tobacco- 
fragrant dressing-gown, hugged him like a bear, as he 
was ; so that poor Ned hardly knew whether he was 
embracing him with his love, or squeezing him to 
death in his wrath. 

'"Ned,” said he, “I’m not going to live a great 
wdiile longer ; I seem an eternal nuisance to you, I 
know ; but it ’s not so, I ’m mortal and I feel myself 
breaking up. Let us be friends while I live ; for be- 
lieve me, Ned, I Ve done as well by you as I knew, 
and care for nothing, love nothing, so much as you. 
Little Elsie here, yes. I love her too. But that’s 
different. You are a boy, and will be a man ; and a 
man whom I destine to do for me what it has been 
the object of my life to achieve. Let us be friends. 
We will — we must be friends; and when old Doctor 
Grim, worthless wretch that he is, sleeps in his grave, 
you shall not have the pang of having parted from 
him in unkindness. Forgive me, Ned ; and not only 
tliat, but love me better than ever ; for though I am 
a hasty old wretch, I am not altogether evil as re- 
gards you.” 

I know not whether the Doctor would have said 
all this, if the day had not been pretty well ad- 
vanced, and if his potations had not been many ; but, 
at any rate, he spoke no more than he felt, and his 
emotions thrilled through the sensitive system of the 
8 


114 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


boy, and quite melted him down. He forgave Doctor 
Grim, and, as he asked, loved him better than ever ; 
and so did Elsie. Then it was so sweet, so good, to 
have had this one outgush of affection, — he, poor 
child, who had no memory of mother’s kisses, or of 
being cared for out of tenderness, and whose heart 
had been hungry, all his life, for some such thing ; 
and probably Doctor Grim, in his way, had the same 
kind of enjoyment of this passionate crisis ; so that 
though, the next day, they all three looked at one 
another a little ashamed, yet it had some remote 
analogy to that delicious embarrassment of two lovers, 
at their first meeting after they know all. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 115 


CHAPTEE X. 

It is very remarkable that Ned had so much good 
in him as we find there ; in the first place, born as 
he seemed to be of a wild, vagrant stock, a seedling 
sown by the breezes, and falling among the rocks and 
sands ; the growing up without a mother to cultivate 
his tenderness with kisses and the inestimable, inevi- 
table love of love breaking out on all little occasions, 
without reference to merit or demerit, unfailing 
whether or no; mother’s faith in excellences, the 
buds which were yet invisible to all other eyes, but 
to which her warm faith was the genial sunshine 
necessary to their growth ; mother’s generous inter- 
pretation of all that was doubtful in him, and which 
might turn out good or bad, according as should be 
believed of it; mother’s pride in whatever the boy 
accomplished, and unfailing excuses, explanations, 
apologies, so satisfactory, for all his failures ; mother’s 
deep intuitive insight, which should see the perma- 
nent good beneath all the appearance of temporary 
evil, being wiser through her love than the wisest 
sage could be, — the dullest, homeliest mother than 
the wisest sage. The Creator, apparently, has set a 
little of his own infinite wisdom and love (which are 
one) in a mother’s heart, so that no child, in the 


116 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET, 


common course of things, should grow up without 
some heavenly instruction. Instead of all this, and 
the vast deal more that mothers do for children, there 
had been only the gruff, passionate Doctor, without 
sense of religion, with only a fitful tenderness, with 
years’ length between the fits, so fiercely critical, so 
wdiolly unradiant of hope, misanthropic, savagely 
morbid. Yes ; there was little Elsie too ; it must 
have been that she was the boy’s preserver, being 
childhood, sisterhood, womanhood, all that there had 
been for him of human life, and enough — he being 
naturally of such good stuff — to keep him good. 
He had lost much, but not all : he was not nearly 
what he might have been under better auspices; 
flaws and imperfections there were, in abundance, 
great uncultivated wastes and wildernesses in his 
moral nature, tangled wilds where there might have 
been stately, venerable religious groves; but there 
was no rank growth of evil. That unknown mother, 
that had no opportunity to nurse her boy, must have 
had gentle and noblest qualities to endow him with ; 
a noble father, too, a long, unstained descent, one 
would have thought. Was this an almshouse child? 

Doctor Grim knew, very probably, that there was 
all this on the womanly side that was w^anting to 
Ned’s occasion ; and very probably, too, being a man 
not without insight, he was aware that tender 
treatment, as a mother bestows it, tends likewise to 
foster strength, and manliness of character, as well as 
softer developments ; but all this he could not have 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 117 


supplied, and now as little as ever. But there was 
something else which Ned ought to have, and might 
have ; and this was intercourse with his kind, free 
circulation, free air, instead of the stived-up house, 
with the breeze from the graveyard blowing over it, 
— to be drawn out of himself, and made to share the 
life of many, to be introduced, at one remove, to the 
world with which he was to contend. To this end, 
shortly after the scene of passion and reconciliation 
above described, the Doctor took the resolution of 
sending Ned to an academy, famous in that day, and 
still extant. Accordingly they all three — the grim 
Doctor, Ned, and Elsie — set forth, one day of spring, 
leaving the house to crusty Hannah and the great 
spider, in a carryall, being the only excursion involv- 
ing a night’s absence that either of the two children 
remembered from the house by the graveyard, as at 
nightfall they saw the modest pine-built edifice, with 
its cupola and bell, where Ned was to be initiated 
into the schoolboy. The Doctor, remembering per- 
haps days spent in some gray, stately, legendary great 
school of England, instinct with the boyhood of men 
afterwards great, puffed forth a depreciating curse 
upon it ; but nevertheless made all arrangements for 
Ned’s behoof, and next morning prepared to leave 
him there. 

‘‘Ned, my son, good by,” cried he, shaking the 
little fellow’s hand as he stood tearful and wistful 
beside the chaise shivering at the loneliness which 
he felt settling around him, — a new loneliness to him. 


118 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


— the loneliness of a crowd. Do not be cast down, 
boy* 1^9'Oe the world ; grasp the thistle strongly, 
and it will sting you the less. Have faith in your 
own fist ! Fear no man ! Have no secret plot ! 
Never do what you think wrong ! I If hereafter you 
learn to know that Doctor Grim was a bad man, for- 
give him, and be a better one yourself. Good by, 
and if my blessing be good for anything, in God’s 
name, I invoke it upon you heartily.” 

Little Elsie was sobbing, and flung her arms about 
Ned’s neck, and he his about hers; so that they 
parted without a word. As they drove away, a sin- 
gular sort of presentiment came over the boy, as he 
stood looking after them. 

“ It is all over, — all over,” said he to himself : 

Doctor Grim and little Elsie are gone out of my life. 
They leave me and will never come back, — not they 
to me, not I to them. 0, how cold the world is ! 
Would we three — the Doctor, and Elsie, and I — 
could have lain down in a row, in the old graveyard, 
close under the eaves of the house, and let the grass 
grow over us. The world is cold ; and I am an alms- 
house child.” 

The house by the graveyard seemed dismal now, no 
doubt, to little Elsie, who, being of a cheerful nature 
herself, (common natures often having this delusion 
about a home,) had grown up with the idea that it was 
the most delightful spot in the world ; the place fullest 
of pleasant play, and of household love (because her 
own love welled over out of her heart, like a spring 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 119 


in a barrel) ; the place where everybody was kind 
and good, the world beyond its threshold appearing 
perhaps strange and sombre ; the spot where it was 
pleasantest to be, for its own mere sake; the dim 
old, homely place, so warm and cosey in winter, so 
cool in summer. Who else was fortunate enough to 
have such a home, — with that nice, kind, beautiful 
Ned, and that dear, kind, gentle, old Doctor Grim, 
with his sweet ways, so wise, so upright, so good, be- 
yond all other men ? 0, happy girl that she was, to 

have grown up in such a home ! Was there ever any 
other house with such cosey nooks in it ? Such prob- 
ably were the feelings of good little Elsie about this 
place, which has seemed to us so dismal ; for the 
home feeling in the child’s heart, her warm, cheerful, 
affectionate nature, was a magic, so far as she herself 
was concerned, and made all the house and its inmates 
over after her own fashion. But now that little Ned 
was gone, there came a change. She moped about 
the house, and, for the first time, suspected it w^s 
dismal. 

As for the grim Doctor, there did not appear to be 
much alteration in that hard old character ; perhaps 
he drank a little more, though that was doubtful, be- 
cause it is difficult to see where he could find niches 
to stick in more frequent drinks. Nor did he more 
frequently breathe through the pipe. He fell into 
desuetude, however, of his daily walk,^ and sent Elsie 
to play by herself in the graveyard (a dreary busi- 
ness enough for the poor child) instead of taking her 


120 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE*S SECRET. 


to country or seaside himself. He was more savage 
and blasphemous, sometimes, than he had been here- 
tofore known to be ; but, on the other hand, he was 
sometimes softer, with a kind of weary consenting to 
circumstances, intervals of helpless resignation, when 
he no longer fought and struggled in his heart. He 
did not seem to be alive all the time ; but, on the 
other hand, he was sometimes a good deal too much 
alive, and could not bear his potations as well as he 
used to do, and was overheard blaspheming at him- 
self for being so weakly, and having a brain that 
could not bear a thimbleful, and growing to be a 
milksop like Colcord, as he said. This person, of 
whom the Doctor and his young people had had such 
a brief experience, appeared nevertheless to hang 
upon his remembrance in a singular way, — the more 
singular as there was little resemblance between 
them, or apparent possibility of sympathy. Little 
Elsie was startled to hear Doctor Grim sometimes call 
out, Colcord ! Colcord 1 ’’ as if he were summoning 
a spirit from some secret place. He muttered, sitting 
by himself, long, indistinct masses of talk, in which 
this name was discernible, and other names. Going 
on mumbling, by the hour together, great masses of 
vague trouble, in which, if it only could have been 
unravelled and put in order, no doubt all the secrets 
of his life, — secrets of wrath, guilt, vengeance, love, 
hatred, all beaten up together, and the best quite 
spoiled by the worst, might have been found. His 
mind evidently wandered. Sometimes, he seemed to 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 121 


be holding conversation with unseen interlocutors, 
and almost invariably, so far as could be gathered, he 
was bitter, and then sat, immitigable, pouring out 
wrath and terror, denunciating, tyrannical, speaking as 
to something that lay at his feet, but which he would 
not spare.^ Then suddenly, he would start, look 
round the dark old study, upward to the dangling 
spider overhead, and then at the quiet little girl, who, 
try as she might, could not keep her affrighted looks 
from his face, and always met his eyes with a loyal 
frankness and unyielded faith in him. 

Oh, you little jade, what have you been over- 
hearing ? ” 

“ Nothing, Doctor Grim, — nothing that I could 
make out.’’ 

Make out as much as you can,” he said. I am 
not afraid of you.” 

Afraid of little Elsie, dear Doctor Grim ! ” 

Neither of you, nor of the Devil,” murmured the 
Doctor, — of nobody but little Ned and that milk- 
sop Colcord. If I have wronged anybody it is them. 
As for the rest, let the day of judgment come. Doctor 
Grim is ready to fling down his burden at the judg- 
ment seat and have it sorted there.” 

Then he would lie back in his chair and look up 
at the great spider, who (or else it was Elsie’s fancy) 
seemed to be making great haste in those days, fill- 
ing out his web as if he had less time than was 
desirable for such a piece of work. 

One morning the Doctor arose as usual, and after 


122 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


breakfast (at which he ate nothing, and even after 
filling his coffee-cup half with brandy, half with 
coffee, left it untouched, save sipping a little out of 
a teaspoon) he went to the study (with a rather un- 
steady gait, chiefly remarkable because it was so 
early in the day), and there established himself with 
his pipe, as usual, and his medical books and ma- 
chines, and his manuscript. But he seemed troubled, 
irresolute, weak, and at last he blew out a volley 
of oaths, with no apparent appropriateness, and then 
seemed to be communing with himself. 

It is of no use to carry this on any further,’’ said 
he, fiercely, in a decided tone, as if he had taken a 
resolution. “ Elsie, my girl, come and kiss me.” 

So Elsie kissed him, amid all the tobacco-smoke 
which was curling out of his mouth, as if there were 
a half-extinguished furnace in his inside. 

'' Elsie, my little girl, I mean to die to-day,” said 
the old man. 

To die, dear Doctor Grim ? 0, no ! 0, no ! ” 

0, yes ! Elsie,” said the Doctor, in a very posi- 
tive tone. I have kept myself alive by main force 
these three weeks, and I find it hardly worth the 
trouble. It requires so much exercise of will ; — and 
I am weary, weary. The pipe does not taste good, 
the brandy bewilders me. Ned is gone, too ; — I have 
nothing else to do. I have wrought this many a 
year for an object, and now, taking all things into 
consideration, I don’t know whether to execute it or 
no. Ned is gone ; there is nobody but my little 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 123 


Elsie, — a good child, but not quite enough to live 
for. I will let myself die, therefore, before sunset.” 

0, no ! Doctor Grim. Let us send for Ned, and 
you will think it worth the trouble of living.” 

No, Elsie, I want no one near my death-bed ; 
when I have finished a little business, you must go 
out of the room, and I will turn my face to the wall, 
and say good-night. But first send crusty Hannah 
for Mr. Pickering.” 

He was a lawyer of the town, a man of classical 
and antiquarian tastes, as well as legal acquirement, 
and some of whose pursuits had brought him and 
Doctor Grim occasionally together. Besides calling 
this gentleman, crusty Hannah (of her own motion, 
but whether out of good will to the poor Doctor 
Grim, or from a tendency to mischief inherent in 
such unnatural mixtures as hers) summoned, like- 
wise, in all haste, a medical man, — and, as it hap- 
pened, the one who had taken a most decidedly 
hostile part to our Doctor, — and a clergyman, who 
had often devoted our poor friend to the infernal 
regions, almost by name, in his sermons; a kind- 
ness, to say the truth, which the Doctor had fully 
reciprocated in many anathemas against the clergy- 
man. These two w^orthies, arriving simultaneously, 
and in great haste, were forthwith ushered to where 
the Doctor lay half reclining in his study ; and upon 
showing their heads, the Doctor flew into an awful 
rage, threatening, in his customary improper way, 
when angry, to make them smell the infernal regions, 


124 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


and proceeding to put his threats into execution by 
flinging his odorous tobacco-pipe in the face of the 
medical man, and rebaptizing the clergyman with a 
half-emptied tumbler of brandy and water, and send- 
ing a terrible vociferation of oaths after them both, 
as they clattered hastily down the stairs. Eeally, 
that crusty Hannah must have been the Devil, for 
she stood grinning and chuckling at the foot of the 
stairs, courtesying grotesquely. 

“ He terrible man, our old Doctor Grim,” quoth 
crusty Hannah. ‘‘He drive us all to the wicked 
place before him.” 

This, however, was the final outbreak of poor 
Doctor Grim. Indeed, he almost went off at once 
in the exhaustion that succeeded. The lawyer ar- 
rived shortly after, and was shut up with him for 
a considerable space ; after which crusty Hannah 
was summoned, and desired to call two indifferent 
persons from the street, as witnesses to a will ; 
and this document was duly executed, and given 
into the possession of the lawyer. This done, and 
the lawyer having taken his leave, the grim Doctor 
desired, and indeed commanded imperatively, that 
crusty Hannah should quit the room, having first — 
we are sorry to say — placed the brandy-bottle within 
reach of his hand, and leaving him propped up in his 
arm-ch^r, in which he leaned back, gazing up at the 
great spider, who was dangling overhead. As the 
door closed behind crusty Hannah’s grinning and yet 
strangely interested face, the Doctor caught a glimpse 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 125 


of little Elsie in the passage, bathed in tears, and 
lingering and looking earnestly into the chamber.^ 

Seeing the poor little girl, the Doctor cried out to 
her, half wrathfully, half tenderly, Don’t cry, you 
little wretch ! Come and kiss me once more.” So 
Elsie, restraining her grief with a great effort, ran to 
him and gave him a last kiss. 

''Tell Ned,” said the Doctor solemnly, "to think 
no more of the old English hall, or of the bloody 
footstep, or of the silver key, or any of all that non- 
sense. Good by, my dear ! ” Then he said, with 
his thunderous and imperative tone, "Let no one 
come near me till to-morrow morning.” 

So that parting was over ; but still the poor little 
desolate child hovered by the study door all day 
long, afraid to enter, afraid to disobey, but unable to 
go. Sometimes she heard the Doctor muttering, as 
was his wont ; once she fancied he was praying, and 
dropping on her knees, she also prayed fervently, and 
perhaps acceptably ; then, all at once, the Doctor 
called out, in a loud voice, " No, Ned, no. Drop it, 
drop it!” 

And then there was an utter silence,” unbroken 
forevermore by the lips that had uttered so many 
objectionable things. 

And finally, after an interval which had been pre- 
scribed by the grim Doctor, a messenger was sent by 
the lawyer to our friend Ned, to inform him of this 
sad event, and to bring him back temporarily to 
town, for the purpose of hearing what were his pros- 


126 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


pects, and what disposition was now to be made of 
him. We shall not attempt to describe the grief, 
astonishment, and almost incredulity of Ned, on dis- 
covering that a person so mixed up with and built 
into his whole life as the stalwart Doctor Grimshawe 
had vanished out of it thus unexpectedly, like some- 
thing thin as a vapor, — like a red flame, that one 
[instant] is very bright in its lurid ray, and then is 
nothing at all, amid the darkness. To the poor boy’s 
still further grief and astonishment, he found, on 
reaching the spot that he called home, that little 
Elsie (as the lawyer gave him to understand, by the 
express orders of the Doctor, and for reasons of great 
weight) had been conveyed away by a person under 
whose guardianship she was placed, and that Ned 
could not be informed of the place. Even crusty 
Hannah had been provided for and disposed of, and 
was no longer to be found. Mr. Pickering explained 
to Ned the dispositions in his favor which had been 
made by his deceased friend, who, out of a moderate 
property, had left him the means of obtaining as 
complete an education as the country would afford, 
and of supporting himself until his own exertions 
would be likely to give him the success which his 
abilities were calculated to win. The remainder of 
his property (a less sum than that thus disposed of) 
was given to little Elsie, with the exception of a 
small provision to crusty Hannah, with the recom- 
mendation from the Doctor that she should retire and 
spend the remainder of her life among her own peo- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 127 


pie. There was likewise a certain sum left for the 
purpose of editing and printing (with a dedication to 
the Medical Society of the State) an account of the 
process of distilling balm from cobwebs ; the bequest 
being worded in so singular a way that it was just as 
impossible as it had ever been to discover whether 
the grim Doctor was in earnest or no. 

What disappointed the boy, in a greater degree 
than we shall try to express, was the lack of any- 
thing in reference to those dreams and castles of the 
air, — any explanation of his birth ; so that he was 
left with no trace of it, except just so far as the alms- 
house whence the Doctor had taken him. There all 
traces of his name and descent vanished, just as if he 
had been made up of the air, as an aerolite seems to 
be before it tumbles on the earth with its mysterious 
iron. 

The poor boy, in his bewilderment, had not yet 
come to feel what his grief was ; it was not to be 
conceived, in a few days, that he was deprived of 
every person, thing, or thought that had hitherto 
kept his heart warm. He tried to make himself 
feel it, yearning for this grief as for his sole friend. 
Being, for the present, domiciled with the lawyer, he 
obtained the key of his former home, and went 
through the desolate house that he knew so well, and 
which now had such a silent, cold, familiar strange- 
ness, with none in it, though the ghosts of the grim 
Doctor, of laughing little Elsie, of crusty Hannah, — 
dead and alive alike, — were all there, and his own 


128 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


ghost among them ; for he himself was dead, that is, 
his former self, which he recognized as himself, had 
passed away, as they were. In the study everything 
looked as formerly, yet with a sort of unreality, as if 
it would dissolve and vanish on being touched ; and, 
indeed, it partly proved so ; for over the Doctor’s 
chair seemed still to hang the great spider, but on 
looking closer at it, and finally touching it with the 
end of the Doctor s stick, Ned discovered that it was 
merely the skin, shell, apparition, of the real spider,^ 
the reality of whom, it is to be supposed, had fol- 
lowed the grim Doctor, whithersoever he had gone. 

A thought struck Ned while he was here ; he re- 
membered the secret niche in the wall, where he 
had once seen the Doctor deposit some papers. He 
looked, and there they were. Who was the heir of 
those papers, if not he ? If there were anything 
wrong in appropriating them, it was not perceptible 
to him in the desolation, anxiety, bewilderment, and 
despair of that moment. He grasped the papers, and 
hurried from the room and down the stairs, afraid to 
look round, and half expecting to hear the gruff voice 
of Doctor Grim thundering after him to bring them 
back. 

Then Ned went out of the back door, and found 
his way to the Doctor’s new grave, which, as it hap- 
pened, was dug close beside that one which occupied 
the place of the one which the stranger had come to 
seek ; and, as if to spite the Doctor’s professional 
antipathies, it lay beside a grave of an old physician 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 129 


and surgeon, one Doctor Summerton, who used to 
help diseases and kill patients above a hundred years 
ago. But Doctor Grim was undisturbed by these 
neighbors, and apparently not more by the grief of 
poor little Ned, who hid his face in the crumbly 
earth of the grave, and the sods that had not begun 
to grow, and wept as if his heart would break. 

But the heart never breaks on the first grave ; and, 
after many graves, it gets so obtuse that nothing can 
break it. 

And now let the mists settle down over the trail of 
our story, hiding it utterly on its onward course, for 
a long way to come, until, after many years, they 
may disperse and discover something which, were it 
worth while to follow it through all that obscurity, 
would prove to be the very same track which that 
boy was treading when we last saw him, — though it 
may have lain over land and sea since then ; but the 
footsteps that trod there are treading here. 


130 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTER XI. 

There is — or there was, now many years ago, 
and a few years also it was still extant — a cham- 
ber, which when I think of, it seems to me like 
entering a deep recess of my own consciousness, a 
deep cave of my nature ; so much have I thought of 
it and its inmate, through a considerable period of 
my life. After I had seen it long in fancy, then I 
saw it in reality, with my waking eyes ; and ques- 
tioned with myself whether I was really awake. 

Not that it was a picturesque or stately chamber ; 
not in the least. It was dim, dim as a melancholy 
mood ; so dim, to come to particulars, that, till you 
were accustomed to that twilight medium, the print 
of a book looked all blurred ; a pin was an indis- 
tinguishable object ; the face of your familiar friend, 
or your dearest beloved one, would be unrecognizable 
across it, and the figures, so warm and radiant with 
life and heart, would seem like the faint gray shadows 
of our thoughts, brooding in age over youthful 
images of joy and love. Nevertheless, the chamber, 
though so difficult to see across, was small. You 
detected that it was within very narrow boundaries, 
though you could not precisely see them ; only you 
felt yourself shut in, compressed, impeded, in the 


DOCTOR GRIMSEAWE^S SECRET. 131 


deep centre of something ; and you longed for a 
breath of fresh air. Some articles of furniture there 
seemed to be ; but in this dim medium, to which we 
are unaccustomed, it is not well to try to make out 
what they were, or anything else — now at least — 
about the chamber. Only one thing ; small as the 
light was, it was rather wonderful how there came 
to be any ; for no windows were apparent ; no com- 
munication with the outward day.^ 

Looking into this chamber, in fancy it is some 
time before we who come out of the broad sunny 
daylight of the world discover that it has an inmate. 
Yes, there is some one within, but where ? We know 
it ; but do not precisely see him, only a presence is 
impressed upon us. It is in that corner; no, not 
there ; only a heap of darkness and an old antique 
coffer, that, as we look closely at it, seems to be made 
of carved wood. Ah 1 he is in that other dim corner ; 
and now that we steal close to him, we see him ; a 
young man, pale, flung upon a sort of mattress-couch. 
He seems in alarm at something or other. He 
trembles, he listens, as if for voices. It must be a 
great peril, indeed, that can haunt him thus and 
make him feel afraid in such a seclusion as you feel 
this to be ; but there he is, tremulous, and so pale 
that really his face is almost visible in the gloomy 
twilight. How came he here ? Who is he ? What 
does he tremble at? In this duskiness we cannot 
tell. Only that he is a young man, in a state of 
nervous excitement and alarm, looking about him, 


132 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


starting to his feet, sometimes standing and staring 
about him. 

Has he been living here ? Apparently not ; for 
see, he has a pair of long riding-boots on, coming up 
to the knees ; they are splashed with mud, as if he 
had ridden hastily through foul ways ; the spurs are 
on the heel. A riding-dress upon him. Ha ! is 
that blood upon the hand which he clasps to his 
forehead. 

What more do you perceive ? Nothing, the light 
is so dim ; but only we wonder where is the door, 
and whence the light comes. There is a strange 
abundance of spiders, too, we perceive ; spinning their 
webs here, as if they would entrammel something in 
them. A mouse has run across the floor, apparently, 
but it is too dim to detect him, or to detect anything 
beyond the limits of a very doubtful vagueness. We 
do not even know whether what we seem to have 
seen is really so ; whether the man is young, or old, 
or what his surroundings are ; and there is something 
so disagreeable in this seclusion, this stifled atmos- 
phere, that we should be loath to remain here long 
enough to make ourselves certain of what was a 
mystery. Let us forth into the broad, genial day- 
light, for there is magic, there is a devilish, subtile 
influence, in this chamber; which, I have reason to 
believe, makes it dangerous to remain here. There 
is a spell on the threshold. Heaven keep us safe 
from it ! 

Hark ! has a door unclosed ? Is there another 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 133 


human being in the room ? We have now become so 
accustomed to the dim medium that we distinguish a 
man of mean exterior, with a look of habitual sub- 
servience that seems like that of an English serving- 
man, or a person in some menial situation ; decent, 
quiet, neat, softly-behaved, but yet with a certain 
hard and questionable presence, which we would not 
well like to have near us in the room. 

Am I safe ? ” asks the inmate of the prison- 
chamber. 

Sir, there has been a search.’’ 

Leave the pistols,” said the voice. 

Again, 2 after this time, a long time extending to 
years, let us look back into that dim chamber, wher- 
ever in the world it was, into which we had a 
glimpse, and where we saw apparently a fugitive. 
How looks it now ? Still dim, — perhaps as dim as 
ever, — but our eyes, or our imagination, have gained 
an acquaintance, a customariness, with the medium ; 
so that we can discern things now a little more dis- 
tinctly than of old. Possibly, there may have been 
something cleared away that obstructed the light ; at 
any rate, we see now the whereabouts — better than 
we did. It is an oblong room, lofty but narrow, and 
some ten paces in length; its floor is heavily car- 
peted, so that the tread makes no sound ; it is hung 
with old tapestry, or carpet, wrought with the hand 
long ago, and still retaining much of the ancient 
colors, where there was no sunshine to fade them ; 
worked on them is some tapestried story, done by 


134 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


Catholic hands, of saints or devils, looking each 
equally grave and solemnly. The light, whence comes 
it ? There is no window ; but it seems to come 
through a stone, or something like it, — a dull gray 
medium, that makes noonday look like evening twi- 
light. Though sometimes there is an effect as if 
something were striving to melt itself through this 
dull medium, and — never making a shadow — yet 
to produce the effect of a cloud gathering thickly 
over the sun. There is a chimney ; yes, a little grate 
in which burns a coal fire, a dim smouldering fire, 
it might be an illumination, if that were desirable. 

What is the furniture ? An antique chair, — one 
chair, no more. A table, many-footed, of dark wood ; 
it holds writing-materials, a book, too, on its face, 
with the dust gathered on its back. There is, more- 
over, a sort of antique box, or coffer, of some dark 
wood, that seems to have been wrought or carved 
with skill, wondrous skill, of some period when the 
art of carving wainscot with arms and devices was 
much practised; so that on this coffer — some six 
feet long it is, and two or three broad — most richly 
wrought, you see faces in relief of knight and dame, 
lords, heraldic animals ; some story, very likely, told, 
almost revelling in Gothic sculpture of wood, like 
what we have seen on the marble sarcophagus of 
the old Greeks. It has, too, a lock, elaborately orna- 
mented and inlaid with silver. 

What else; only the spider’s webs spinning 
strangely over everything; over that light which 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 135 


comes into the room through the stone; over every- 
thing. And now we see, in a corner, a strange great 
spider curiously variegated. The ugly, terrible, seem- 
ingly poisonous thing makes us shudder.® 

What, else ? There are pistols ; they lie on the 
coffer ! There is a curiously shaped Italian dagger, 
of the kind which in a groove has poison that makes 
its wound mortal. On the old mantel-piece, over the 
fireplace, there is a vial in which are kept certain poi- 
sons. It would seem as if some one had meditated 
suicide ; or else that the foul fiend had put all sorts 
of implements of self-destruction in his way ; so that, 
in some frenzied moment, he might kill himself. 

But the inmate 1 There he is ; but the frenzied 
alarm in which we last saw him seems to have 
changed its character. No throb, now ; no passion ; 
no frenzy of fear or despair. He sits dull and mo- 
tionless. See ; his cheek is very pale ; his hair long 
and dishevelled. His beard has grown, and curls 
round his face. He has on a sleeping-gown, a long 
robe as of one who abides within doors, and has 
nothing to do with outward elements ; a pair of slip- 
pers. A dull, dreamy reverie seems to have possessed 
him. Hark ! there is again a stealthy step on the 
floor, and the serving-man is here again. There is 
a peering, anxious curiosity in his face, as he struts 
towards him, a sort of enjoyment, one would say, in 
the way in which he looks at the strange case. 

I am here, you know,’’ he says, at length, after 
feasting his eyes for some time on the spectacle. 


136 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


I hear you ! ” says the young man, in a dull, in- 
different tone. 

Will not your honor walk out to-day ? ” says 
the man. ‘‘It is long now since your honor has 
taken the air.” 

“Very long,” says the master, “but I will not go 
out to-day. What weather is it ? ” 

“ Sunny, bright, a summer day,” says the man. 
“ But you would never know it in these damp walls. 
The last winter’s chill is here yet. Had not your 
honor better go forth ? ” 

It might seem that there was a sort of sneer, deeply 
hidden under respect and obeisance, in the man’s 
words and craftily respectful tone; deeply hidden, 
but conveying a more subtile power on that account. 
At all events, the master seemed aroused from his 
state of dull indifference, and writhed as with poig- 
nant anguish — an infused poison in his veins — as 
the man spoke. 

“Have you procured me that new drug I spoke 
of ? ” asked the master. 

“ Here it is,” said the man, putting a small pack- 
age on the table. 

“ Is it effectual ? ” 

“ So said the apothecary,” answered the man ; 
“ and I tried it on a dog. He sat quietly a quarter 
of an hour ; then had a spasm or two, and was dead. 
But, your honor, the dead carcass swelled horribly.” 

“ Hush, villain ! Have there — have there been 
inquiries for me, — mention of me ? ” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 137 


‘‘ 0, none, sir, — none, sir. Affairs go on bravely, 
— the new live. The world fills up. The gap is not 
vacant. There is no mention of you. Marry, at the 
alehouse I heard some idle topers talking of a mur- 
der that took place some few years since, and saying 
that Heaven’s vengeance would come for it yet.” 

Silence, villain, there is no such thing,” said the 
young man ; and, with a laugh that seemed like scorn, 
he relapsed into his state of sullen indifference; dur- 
ing which the servant stole away, after looking at 
him some time, as if to take all possible note of his 
aspect. The man did not seem so much to enjoy it 
himself, as he did to do these things in a kind of for- 
mal and matter-of-course way, as if he were perform- 
ing a set duty ; as if he were a subordinate fiend, and 
were doing the duty of a superior one, without any 
individual malice of his own, though a general satis- 
faction in doing what would accrue to the agglomera- 
tion of deadly mischief. He stole away, and the 
master was left to himself. 

By and by, by what impulse or cause it is impossi- 
ble to say, he started upon his feet in a sudden frenzy 
of rage and despair. It seemed as if a consciousness 
of some strange, wild miserable fate that had befallen 
him had come upon him all at once; how that he 
was a prisoner to a devilish influence, to some wizard 
might, that bound him hand and foot with spider’s 
web. So he stamped ; so he half shrieked, yet 
stopped himself in the midst, so that his cry was 
stifled and smothered. Then he snatched up the 


138 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


poisoned dagger and looked at it ; the noose, and put 
it about his neck, — evil instrument of death, — hut 
laid it down again. And then was a voice at the 
door : Quietly, quietly you know, or they will hear 
you.’^ And at that voice he sank into sullen indiffer- 
ence again. 


DOCTOR GPdMSHAWE^S SECRET. 139 


CHAPTER XII. 

A TRAVELLER with a knapsack on his shoulders 
comes out of the duskiness of vague, unchronicled 
times, throwing his shadow before him in the morn- 
ing sunshine along a well-trodden, though solitary 
path. 

It was early summer, or perhaps latter spring, and 
the most genial weather that either spring or summer 
ever brought, possessing a character, indeed, as if 
both seasons had done their utmost to create an 
atmosphere and temperature most suitable for the 
enjoyment and exercise of life. To one accustomed 
to a climate where there is seldom a medium between 
heat too fierce and cold too deadly, it was a new de- 
velopment in the nature of weather. So genial it 
was, so full of all comfortable influences, and yet, 
somehow or other, void of the torrid characteristic 
that inevitably burns in our full sun-bursts. The 
traveller thought, in fact, that the sun was at less 
than his brightest glow ; for though it was bright, — 
though the day seemed cloudless, — though it ap- 
peared to be the clear, transparent morning that pre- 
cedes an unshadowed noon, — still there was a mild 
and softened character, not so perceptible when he 
directly sought to see it, but as if some veil were 


140 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


interposed between the earth and sun, absorbing all 
the passionate qualities out of the latter, and leaving 
only the kindly ones. Warmth was in abundance, 
and, yet, all through it, and strangely akin to it, there 
was a half-suspected coolness that gave the atmos- 
phere its most thrilling and delicious charm. It was 
good for human life, as the traveller felt throughout 
all his being; good, likewise, for vegetable life, as 
was seen in the depth and richness of verdure over 
the gently undulating landscape, and the luxuriance 
of foliage, wherever there was tree or shrub to put 
forth leaves. 

The path along which the traveller was passing de- 
served at least a word or two of description : it was a 
w^ell-trodden footpath, running just here along the 
edge of a field of grass, and bordered on one side by 
a hedge which contained materials within itself for 
varied and minute researches in natural history; so 
richly luxuriant was it with its diverse vegetable life, 
such a green intricacy did it form, so impenetrable 
and so beautiful, and such a Paradise it was for the 
birds that built their nests there in a labyrinth of 
little boughs and twigs, unseen and inaccessible, while 
close beside the human race to which they attach 
themselves, that they must have felt themselves as 
safe as wdien they sung to Eve. Homely flowers like- 
wise grew in it, and many creeping and twining 
plants, that were an original part of the hedge, had 
come of their own accord and dwelt here, beautifying 
and enriching the verdant fence by way of repayment 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 141 


for the shelter and support which it afforded them. 
At intervals, trees of vast trunk and mighty spread 
of foliage, whether elms or oaks, grew in the line of 
the hedge, and the bark of those gigantic, age-long 
patriarchs was not gray and naked, like the trees 
which the traveller had been accustomed to see, but 
verdant with moss, or in many cases richly en- 
wreathed with a network of creeping plants, and 
oftenest the ivy of old growth, clambering upward, 
and making its own twisted stem almost of one sub- 
stance with the supporting tree. On one venerable 
oak there was a plant of mystic leaf, which the trav- 
eller knew by instinct, and plucked a bough of it 
with a certain reverence for the sake of the Druids 
and Christmas kisses and of the pasty in which 
it was rooted from of old. 

The path in which he walked, rustic as it was and 
made merely by the feet that pressed it down, was 
one of the ancientest of ways ; older than the oak that 
bore the mistletoe, older than the villages between 
which it passed, older perhaps than the common road 
which the traveller had crossed that morning ; old as 
the times when people first debarred themselves from 
wandering freely and widely wherever a vagrant im- 
pulse led them. The footpath, therefore, still retains 
some of the characteristics of a woodland walk, taken 
at random, by a lover of nature not pressed for time 
nor restrained by artificial barriers; it sweeps and 
lingers along, and finds pretty little dells and nooks 
of delightful scenery, and picturesque glimpses of 


142 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


halls or cottages, in the same neighborhood where a 
highroad would disclose only a tiresome blank. They 
run into one another for miles and miles together, and 
traverse rigidly guarded parks and domains, not as a 
matter of favor, but as a right ; so that the poorest 
man thus retains a kind of property and privilege in 
the oldest inheritance of the richest. The highroad 
sees only the outside ; the footpath leads down into 
the heart of the country. 

A pleasant feature of the footpath was the stile, 
between two fields ; no frail and temporary structure, 
but betokening the permanence of this rustic way; 
the ancient solidity of the stone steps, worn into cav- 
ities by the hobnailed shoes that had pressed upon 
them : here not only the climbing foot had passed for 
ages, but here had sat the maiden with her milk-pail, 
the rustic on his way afield or homeward ; here had 
been lover meetings, cheerful chance chats, song as 
natural as bird note, a thousand pretty scenes of 
rustic manners. 

It was curious to see the traveller pause, to con- 
template so simple a thing as this old stile of a few 
stone steps; antique as an old castle; simple and 
rustic as the gap in a rail fence ; and while he sat on 
one of the steps, making himself pleasantly sensible 
of his whereabout, like one who should handle a 
dream and find it tangible and real, he- heard a sound 
that bewitched him with still another dreamy delight. 
A bird rose out of the grassy field, and, still soaring 
aloft, made a cheery melody that was like a spire of 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


143 


audible flame, — rapturous music, as if the whole soul 
and substance of the winged creature had been dis- 
tilled into this melody, as it vanished skyward. 

“ The lark ! the lark ! ” exclaimed the traveller, 
recognizing the note (though never heard before) as 
if his childhood had known it. 

A moment afterwards another bird was heard in 
the shadow of a neighboring wood, or some other in- 
scrutable hiding-place, singing softly in a flute-like 
note, as if blown through an instrument of wood, — 
‘‘ Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! ” — only twice, and then a still- 
ness. 

How familiar these rustic sounds 1 he exclaimed. 

Surely I was born here ! 

The person who thus enjoyed these sounds, as if 
they were at once familiar and strange, was a young 
man, tall and rather - slenderly built, and though we 
have called him young, there were the traces of 
thought, struggle, and even of experience in his 
marked brow and somewhat pale face ; but the spirit 
within him was evidently still that of a youth, lithe 
and active, gazing out of his dark eyes and taking 
note of things about him, with an eager, centring 
interest, that seemed to be unusually awake at the 
present moment. 

It could be but a few years since he first called 
himself a man; but they must have been thickly 
studded with events, turbulent with action, spent 
amidst circumstances that called for resources of 
energy not often so early developed; and thus his 


144 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


youth might have been kept in abeyance until 
now, when in this simple rural scene he grew almost 
a boy again. As for his station in life, his coarse 
gray suit and the knapsack on his shoulders did not 
indicate a very high one ; yet it was such as a gentle- 
man might wear of a morning, or on a pedestrian 
ramble, and was worn in a way that made it seem of 
a better fashion than it really was, as it enabled him 
to find a rare enjoyment, as we have seen, in by-path, 
hedge-row, rustic stile, lark, and cuckoo, and even 
the familiar grass and clover blossom. It was as if 
he had long been shut in a sick-chamber or a prison ; 
or; at least, within the iron cage of busy life, that had 
given him but few glimpses of natural things through 
its bars ; or else this was another kind of nature than 
he had heretofore known. 

As he walked along (through a kind of dream, 
though he seemed so sensibly observant of trifling 
things around him,) he failed to notice that the path 
grew somewhat less distinctly marked, more infringed 
upon by grass, more shut in by .shrubbery ; he had 
deviated into a side track, and, in fact, a certain 
printed board nailed against a tree had escaped his 
notice, warning off intruders with inhospitable threats 
of prosecution. He began to suspect that he must 
have gone astray when the path led over plashy 
ground with a still fainter trail of preceding footsteps, 
and plunged into shrubbery, and seemed on the point 
of deserting him altogether, after having beguiled him 
thus far. The spot was an entanglement of boughs, and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 145 


yet did not give one the impression of wildness ; for 
it was the stranger’s idea that everything in this long 
cultivated region had been touched and influenced by 
man’s care, every oak, every bush, every sod, — that 
man knew them all, and that they knew him, and by 
that mutual knowledge had become far other than 
they were in the first freedom of growth, such as may 
be found in an American forest. Nay, the wildest 
denizens of this sylvan neighborhood were removed 
in the same degree from their primeval character; 
for hares sat on their hind legs to gaze at the ap- 
proaching traveller, and hardly thought it worth their 
while to leap away among some ferns, as he drew 
near ; two pheasants looked at him from a bough, a 
little inward among the shrubbery ; and, to complete 
the wonder, he became aware of the antlers and 
brown muzzle of a deer protruding among the boughs, 
and though immediately there ensued a great rush 
and rustling of the herd, it seemed evidently to come 
from a certain lingering shyness, an instinct that had 
lost its purpose and object, and only mimicked a 
dread of man, whose neighborhood and familiarity had 
tamed the wild deer almost into a domestic creature. 
Eemembering his experience of true woodland life, 
the traveller fancied that it might be possible to want 
freer air, less often used for human breath, than was 
to be found anywhere among these woods. 

But then the sweet, calm sense of safety that was 
here ! the certainty that with the wild element that 
centuries ago had passed out of this scene had gone 
10 


146 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


all the perils of wild men and savage beasts, dwarfs, 
witches, leaving nature, not effete, but only disarmed 
of those rougher, deadlier characteristics, that cruel 
rawness, which make primeval Nature the deadly 
enemy even of her own children. Here was conso- 
lation, doubtless ; so we sit down on the stone step 
of the last stile that he had crossed, and listen to the 
footsteps of the traveller, and the distant rustle 
among the shrubbery, as he goes deeper and deeper 
into the seclusion, having by this time lost the deceit- 
ful track. No matter if he go astray ; even were it 
after nightfall instead of noontime, a will-o’-the-wisp, 
or Puck himself, would not lead him into worse harm 
than to delude him into some mossy pool, the depths 
of which the truant schoolboys had known for ages. 
Nevertheless, some little time after his disappearance, 
there was the report of a shot that echoed sharp and 
loud, startling the pheasants from their boughs, and 
sending the hares and deer a-scampering in good 
earnest. 

We next find our friend, from whom we parted on 
the footpath, in a situation of which he then was but 
very imperfectly aware ; for, indeed, he had been in 
a state of unconsciousness, lasting until it was now 
late towards the sunset of that same day. He was 
endeavoring to make out where he was, and how he 
came thither, or what had happened ; or whether, 
indeed, anything had happened, unless to have fallen 
asleep, and to be still enveloped in the fragments of 
some vivid and almost tangible dream, the more con- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 147 


fused because so vivid. His wits did not come so 
readily about him as usual ; there may have been a 
slight delusion, which mingled itself with his sober 
perceptions, and by its leaven of extravagance made 
the whole substance of the scene untrue. Thus it 
happened that, as it were at the same instant, he 
fancied himself years back in life, thousands of miles 
away, in a gloomy cobwebbed room, looking out 
upon a graveyard, while yet, neither more nor less 
distinctly, he was conscious of being in a small cham- 
ber, panelled with oak, and furnished in an antique 
style. He was doubtful, too, whether or no there 
was a grim feudal figure, in a shabby dressing-gown 
and an old velvet cap, sitting in the dusk of the 
room, smoking a pipe that diffused a scent of tobacco, 
— quaffing a deep-hued liquor out of a tumbler, — 
looking upwards at a spider that hung above. Was 
there, too, a child sitting in a little chair at his foot- 
stool ? In his earnestness to see this apparition more 
distinctly, he opened his eyes wider and stirred, and 
ceased to see it at all. 

But though that other dusty, squalid, cobwebbed 
scene quite vanished, and along with it the two 
figures, old and young, grim and childish, of whose 
portraits it had been the framework, still there were 
features in the old, oaken-panelled chamber that 
seemed to belong rather to his dream. The panels 
were ornamented, here and there, with antique carv- 
ing, representing over and over again an identical 
device, being a bare arm, holding the torn-off head of 


148 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


some savage beast, which the stranger could not 
know by species, any more than Agassiz himself 
could have assigned its type or kindred ; because it 
was that kind of natural history of which heraldry 
alone keeps the menagerie. But it was just as famil- 
iar to his recollection as that of the cat which he had 
fondled in his childhood. 

There was likewise a mantelpiece, heavily wrought 
of oak, quite black with smoke and age, in the centre 
of which, more prominent than elsewhere, was that 
same leopard’s head that seemed to thrust itself every- 
where into sight, as if typifying some great mystery 
which human nature would never be at rest till it 
had solved ; and below, in a cavernous hollow, there 
was a smouldering fire of coals ; for the genial day 
had suddenly grown chill, and a shower of rain spat- 
tered against the small window-panes, almost at the 
same time with the struggling sunshine. And over 
the mantelpiece, where the light of the declining 
day came strongest from the window, there was a 
larger and more highly relieved carving of this same 
device, and underneath it a legend, in Old English 
letters, which, though his eyes could not precisely 
trace it at that distance, he knew to be this : — 

Otherwise the aspect of the room bewildered him by 
not being known, since these details were so familiar ; 
a narrow precinct it was, with one window full of old- 
fashioned, diamond-shaped panes of glass, a small 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 149 


desk table, standing on clawed feet ; two or three 
high-backed chairs, on the top of each of which was 
carved that same crest of the fabulous brute’s head, 
which the carver’s fancy seemed to have clutched so 
strongly that he could not let it go ; in another part 
of the room a very old engraving, rude and strong, 
representing some ruffled personage, which the stran- 
ger only tried to make out with a sort of idle curi- 
osity, because it was strange he should dream so 
distinctly. 

Very soon it became intolerably irritating that 
these two dreams, both purposeless, should have 
mingled and entangled themselves in liis mind. He 
made a nervous and petulant motion, intending to 
rouse himself fully ; and immediately a sharp pang of 
physical pain took him by surprise, and made him 
groan aloud. 

Immediately there was an almost noiseless step on 
the floor ; and a figure emerged from a deep niche, 
that looked as if it might once have been an oratory, 
in ancient times ; and the figure, too, might have been 
supposed to possess the devout and sanctified charac- 
ter of such as knelt in the oratories of ancient times. 
It was an elderly man, tall, thin, and pale, and wear- 
ing a long, dark tunic, and in a peculiar fashion, 
which — like almost everything else about him — 
the stranger seemed to have a confused remembrance 
of ; this venerable person had a benign and pitiful 
aspect, and approached the bedside with such good 
will and evident desire to do the sufferer good, that 


150 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET. 


the latter felt soothed, at least, by his very presence. 
He lay, a moment, gazing np at the old man’s face, 
without being able to exert himself to say a word, 
but sensible, as it were, of a mild, soft influence from 
him, cooling the fever which seemed to burn in his 
veins. 

"‘Do you suffer much pain ?” asked the old man, 
gently. 

“ Hone at all,” said the stranger ; but again a slight 
motion caused him to feel a burning twinge in his 
shoulder. “ Yes ; there was a throb of strange an- 
guish. Why should I feel pain ? Where am I ? ” 

“ In safety, and with those who desire to be your 
friends,” said the old man. “ You have met with an 
accident ; but do not inquire about it now. Quiet is 
wh^t you need.” 

StiU the traveller gazed at him ; and the old man’s 
figure seemed to enter into his dream, or delirium, 
whichever it might be, as if his peaceful presence 
were but a shadow, so quaint was his address, so un- 
like real life, in that dark robe, with a velvet skull- 
cap on his head, beneath which his hair made a sil- 
very border; and looking more closely, the stranger 
saw embroidered on the breast of the tunic that same 
device, the arm and the leopard’s head, which was 
visible in the carving of the room. Yes ; this must 
still be a dream, which, under the unknown laws 
which govern such psychical states, had brought out 
thus vividly figures, devices, words, forgotten since 
his boyish days. Though of an imaginative tendency, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 151 


the stranger was nevertheless strongly tenacious of 
the actual, and had a natural horror at the idea of 
being seriously at odds, in beliefs, perceptions, con- 
clusions, with the real world about him ; so that a 
tremor ran through him, as if he felt the substance of 
the world shimmering before his eyes like a mere 
vaporous consistency. 

Are you real ? ’’ said he to the antique presence ; 
or a spirit ? or a fantasy ? ” 

The old man laid his thin, cool palm on the stran- 
ger’s burning forehead, and smiled benignantly, keep- 
ing it there an instant. 

“ If flesh and blood are real, I am so,” said he ; ‘‘a 
spirit, too, I may claim to be, made thin by fantasy. 
Again, do not perplex yourself with such things. 
To-morrow you may find denser substance in me. 
Drink this composing draught, and close your eyes to 
those things that disturb you.” 

‘‘Your features, too, and your voice,” said the 
stranger, in a resigned tone, as if he were giving up a 
riddle, the solution of which he could not find, “ have 
an image and echo somewhere in my memory. It 
is all an entanglement. I will drink, and shut my 
eyes.” 

He drank from a little old-fashioned silver cup, 
which his venerable guardian presented to his lips ; 
but in so doing he was still perplexed and tremu- 
lously disturbed with seeing that same weary old 
device, the leopard’s head, engraved ^ the side ; and 
shut his eyes to escape it, for it irritated a certain 


152 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


portion of his brain with vague, fanciful, elusive ideas* 
So he sighed and spoke no more. The medicine, 
whatever it might be, had the merit, rare in doctor’s 
stuff, of being pleasant to take, assuasive of thirst, 
and imbued with a hardly perceptible fragrance, that 
was so ethereal that it also seemed to enter into his 
dream and modify it. He kept his eyes closed, and 
fell into a misty state, in which he wondered whether 
this could be the panacea or medicament which old 
Doctor Grimshawe used to distil from cobwebs, and 
of which the fragrance seemed to breathe through all 
the waste of years since then. He wondered, too, 
who was this benign, saint-like old man, and where, 
in what former state of being, he could have known 
him; to have him thus, as no strange thing, and yet 
so strange, be attending at his bedside, with all this 
ancient garniture. But it was best to dismiss all 
things, he being so weak ; to resign himself ; all this 
had happened before, and had passed away, prosper- 
ously or unprosperously ; it would pass away in this 
case, likewise ; and in the morning whatever might 
be delusive would have disappeared. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 153 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

The patient^ had a favorable night, and awoke 
with a much clearer head, though still considerably 
feverish and in a state of great exhaustion from loss of 
blood, which kept down the fever. The events of the 
preceding day shimmered as it were and shifted illu- 
sively in his recollection ; nor could he yet account for 
the situation in which he found himself, the antique 
chamber, the old man of mediaeval garb, nor even for 
the wound which seemed to have been the occasion 
of bringing him thither. One moment, so far as he 
remembered, he had been straying along a solitary 
footpath, through rich shrubbery, with the antlered 
deer peeping at him, listening to the lark and the 
cuckoo .; the next, he lay helpless in this oak-pan- 
elled chamber, surrounded with objects that appealed 
to some fantastic shadow of recollection, which could 
have had no reality.^ 

To say the truth, the traveller perhaps wilfully 
kept hold of this strange illusiveness, and kept his 
thoughts from too harshly analyzing his situation, 
and solving the riddle in which he found himself in- 
volved. In his present weakness, his mind sympa- 
thizing with the sinking down of his physical powers, 
it was delightful to let all go ; to relinquish all con- 


154 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


trol, and let himself drift vaguely into whatever re- 
gion of improbabilities there exists apart from the 
dull, common plane of life. Weak, stricken down, 
given over to influences which had taken possession 
of him during an interval of insensibility, he was no 
longer responsible ; let these delusions, if they were 
such, linger as long as they would, and depart of their 
own accord at last. He, meanwhile, would willingly 
accept the idea that some spell had transported him 
out of an epoch in which he had led a brief, troubled 
existence of battle, mental strife, success, failure, all 
equally feverish and unsatisfactory, into some past 
century, where the business was to rest, — to drag on 
dreamy days, looking at things through half-shut 
eyes ; into a limbo where things were put away, 
shows of what had once been, now somehow fainted, 
and still maintaining a sort of half-existence, a seri- 
ous mockery ; a state likely enough to exist just a 
little apart from the actual world, if we only know 
how to find our way into it. Scenes and events that 
had once stained themselves, in deep colors, on the 
curtain that Time hangs around us, to shut us in 
from eternity, cannot be quite effaced by the succeed- 
ing phantasmagoria, and sometimes, by a palimpsest, 
show more strongly than they.^ 

In the course of the morning, however, he was a 
little too feelingly made sensible of realities by the 
visit of a surgeon, who proceeded to examine the 
wound in his shoulder, removing the bandages which 
he himself seemed to have put upon this mysterious 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 155 


hurt. The traveller closed his eyes, and submitted 
to the manipulations of the professional person, pain- 
ful as they were, assisted by the gentle touch of the 
old palmer ; and there was something in the way in 
which he resigned himself that met the approbation 
of the surgeon, in spite of a little fever, and slight 
delirium too, to judge by his eye. 

A very quiet and well-behaved patient,’' said he 
to the palmer. Unless I greatly mistake, he has 
been under the surgeon’s hand for a similar hurt ere 
now. He has learned under good discipline how to 
take such a thing easily. Yes, yes; just here is a 
mark where a bullet went in some time ago, — three 
or four years since, when he could have been little 
more than a boy. A wild fellow this, I doubt.” 

It was an Indian bullet,” said the patient, still 
fancying himself gone astray into the past, shot at 
me in battle ; ’t was three hundred years hereafter.” 

‘‘ Ah ! he has served in the East Indies,” said the 
surgeon. " I thought this sun-burned cheek had 
taken its hue elsewhere than in England.” 

The patient did not care to take the trouble which 
would have been involved in correcting the surgeon’s 
surmise ; so he let it pass, and patiently awaited the 
end of the examination, with only a moan or two, 
which seemed rather pleasing and desirable than oth- 
erwise to the surgeon’s ear. 

He has vitality enough for his needs,” said he, 
nodding to the palmer. These groans betoken a 
good degree of pain ; though the young fellow is evi- 


156 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. . 

dently a self-contained sort of nature, and does not 
let us know all he feels. It promises well, however ; 
keep him in bed and quiet, and within a day or two 
we shall see.” 

He wrote a recipe, or two or three, perhaps, (for in 
those days the medical fraternity had faith in their 
own art,) and took his leave. 

The white-bearded palmer withdrew into the half 
concealment of the oratory which we have already 
mentioned, and then, putting on a pair of spectacles, 
betook himself to the perusal of an old folio volume, 
the leaves of which he turned over so gently that not 
the slightest sound could possibly disturb the patient. 
All his manifestations were gentle and soft, but of a 
simplicity most unlike the feline softness which we are 
apt to associate with a noiseless tread and movement 
in the male sex. The sunshine came through the 
ivy and glimmered upon his great book, however, 
with an effect which a little disturbed the patient’s 
nerves ; besides, he desired to have a fuller view of 
his benign guardian. 

Will you sit nearer the bedside ? ” said he. I 
wish to look at you.” 

Weakness, the relaxation of nerves, and the state 
of dependence on another’s care — very long unfelt — 
had made him betray what we must call childishness ; 
and it was perceptible in the low half-complaining 
tone in which he spoke, indicating a consciousness 
of kindness in the other, a little plaintiveness in 
himself ; of which, the next instant, weak and wan- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 157 


dering as he was, he was ashamed, .and essayed to 
express it.^ 

You must deem me very poor-spirited,” said he, 
‘"not to bear this trifling hurt with a firmer mind. 
But perhaps it is not entirely that I am so weak, but 
I feel you to be so benign.” 

Be weak, and be the stronger for it,” said the old 
man, with a grave smile. It is not in the pride of 
our strength that we are best or wisest. To be made 
anew, we even must be again a little child, and con- 
sent to be en wrapt quietly in the arms of Providence, 
as a child in its mother’s arms.” 

“ I never knew a mother’s care,” replied the travel- 
ler, in a low, regretful tone, being weak to the incom- 
ing of all soft feelings, in his present state. Since 
my boyhood, I have lived among men, — a life of 
struggle and hard rivalry. It is good to find myself 
here in the long past, and in a sheltered harbor.” 

And here he smiled, by way of showing to this old 
palmer that he saw through the slight infirmity of 
mind that impelled him to say such things as the 
above ; that he was not its dupe, though he had not 
strength, just now, to resist its impulse. After this 
he dozed off softly, and felt through all his sleep 
some twinges of his wound, bringing him back, as it 
were, to the conscious surface of the great deep of 
slumber, into which he might otherwise have sunk. 
At all such brief intervals, half unclosing his eyes, 
(like a child, when the mother sits by its bed and he 
fears that she will steal away if he falls quite asleep, 


158 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


and leave him in the dark solitude,) he still beheld 
the white-bearded, kindly old man, of saintly aspect, 
sitting near him, and turning over the pages of his 
folio volume so softly that not the faintest rustle did 
it make ; the picture at length got so fully into his 
idea, that he seemed to see it even through his closed 
eyelids. After a while, however, the slumberous ten- 
dency left him more entirely, and, without having 
been consciously awake, he found himself contem- 
plating the old man, with wide-open eyes. The ven- 
erable personage seemed soon to feel his gaze, and, 
ceasing to look at the folio, he turned his eyes with 
quiet inquiry to meet those of the stranger.^ 

“ What great volume is that ? ” asked the latter.® 

It is a book of English chronicles,’' said the old 
man, ‘^mostly relating to the part of the island where 
you now are, and to times previous to the Stuarts.” 

Ah ! it is to you, a contemporary, what reading 
the newspaper is to other men,” said the stranger; 
then, with a smile of self-reproach, I shall conquer 
this idle mood. I’m not so imbecile as you must 
think me. But there is something that strangely 
haunts me, — where, in what state of being, can I have 
seen your face before. There is nothing in it I dis- 
tinctly remember; but some impression, some char- 
acteristic, some look, with which I have been long 
ago familiar haunts me and brings back all old scenes. 
Do you know me ? ” 

The old man smiled. I knew, long ago, a bright 
and impressible boy,” said he. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 159 


" And his name ? said the stranger. 

“ It was Edward Eedclyffe,” said the old man. 

‘‘ Ah, I see who you are,” said the traveller, not too 
earnestly, but with a soft, gratified feeling, as the riddle 
thus far solved itself. “ You are my old kindly in- 
structor. You are Colcord ! That is it. I remember 
you disappeared. You shall tell me, when I am quite 
myself, what was that mystery, — and whether it is 
your real self, or only a part of my dream, and going 
to vanish when I quite awake. Now I shall sleep 
and dream more of it.” 

One more waking interval he had that day, and 
again essayed to enter into conversation with the old 
man, who had thus strangely again become connected 
with his life, after having so long vanished from his 
path. 

Where am I ? ” asked Edward Eedclyffe. 

In the home of misfortune,” said Colcord. 

'"Ahl then I have a right to be here!” said he. 
‘'I was born in such a home. Do you remember it ?” 

I know your story,” said Colcord. 

Yes ; from Doctor Grim,” said Edward. People 
whispered he had made away with you. I never be- 
lieved it ; but finding you here in this strange way, 
and myself having been shot, perhaps to death, it 
seems not so strange. Pooh I I wander again, and 
ought to sleep a little more. And this is the home 
of misfortune, but not like the squalid place of rage, 
idiocy, imbecility, drunkenness, where I was born. 
How many times I have blushed to remember that 


160 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


native home ! But not of late 1 I have struggled ; 

I have fought; I have triumphed. The unknown 
hoy has come to be no undistinguished man ! His 
ancestry, should he ever reveal himself to them, need 
not blush for the poor foundling.’' 

‘"Hush!” said the quiet watcher. '^Your fever: 
burns you. Take this draught, and sleep a little 
longer.” ^ 

Another day or two found Edward Eedclyffe almost 
a convalescent. The singular lack of impatience 
that characterized his present mood — the repose of 
spirit into which he had lapsed — had much to do 
with the favorable progress of his cure. After strife, 
anxiety, great mental exertion, and excitement of 
various kinds, which had harassed him ever since he 
grew to be a man, had come this opportunity, of per- 
fect rest ; — this dream in the midst of which he lay, 
while its magic boundaries involved him, and kept 
far off the contact of actual life, so that its sounds 
and tumults seemed remote ; its cares could not . fr^t 
him ; its ambitions, objects good or evil, were shut : 
out from him ; the electric wires that had connected 
him with the battery of life were broken for the 
time, and he did not feel the unquiet influence that 
kept everybody else in galvanic motion. So, under 
the benign influence of the old palmer, he lay in 
slumberous luxury, undisturbed save by some twinges 
of no intolerable pain; which, however, he almost 
was glad of, because it made him sensible that this 
deep luxury of quiet was essential to his cure, how- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 161 


ever idle it might seem. For the first time since he 
was a child, he resigned himself not to put a finger to 
the evolution of his fortune ; he determined to accept 
all things that might happen, good or evil ; he would 
not imagine an event beyond to-day, but would let 
one spontaneous and half-defined thought loiter after 
another, through his mind ; listen to the spattering 
shower, — the puffs of shut-out wind ; and look with 
half-shut eyes at the sunshine glimmering through 
the ivy-twigs, and illuminating those old devices on 
the wall ; at the gathering twilight ; at the dim lamp ; 
at the creeping upward of another day, and with it 
the lark singing so far away that the thrill of its de- 
licious song could not disturb him with an impulse 
to awake. Sweet as its carol was, he could almost 
have been content to miss the lark ; sweet and clear, 
it was too like a fairy trumpet-call, summoning him 
to awake and struggle again with eager combatants 
for new victories, the best of which were not worth 
this deep repose. 

The old palmer did his best to prolong a mood so 
beneficial to the wounded young man. The surgeon 
also nodded approval, and attributed this happy state 
of the patient’s mind, and all the physical advantages 
growing out of it, to his own consummate skill ; nor, 
indeed, was he undeserving of credit, not often to be 
awarded to medical men, for having done nothing to 
impede the good which kind Nature was willing to 
bring about. She was doing the patient more good, 
indeed, than either the surgeon or the palmer could 
11 


162 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


fully estimate, in taking this opportunity to recreate 
a mind that had too early known stirring impulse, 
and that had been worked to a degree beyond what 
its organization (in some respects singularly delicate) 
ought to have borne. Once in a long while the weary 
actors in the headlong drama of life must have such 
repose or else go mad or die. When the machinery 
of human life has once been stopped by sickness or 
other impediment, it often needs an impulse to set it 
going again, even after it is nearly wound up. 

But it could not last forever. The influx of new 
life into his being began to have a poignancy that 
would not let him lie so quietly, lapped in the past, 
in gone -by centuries, and waited on by quiet Age, in 
the person of the old palmer ; he began to feel again 
that he was young, and must live in the time when 
his lot was cast. He began to say to himself, that it 
was not well to be any longer passive, but that he 
must again take the troublesome burden of his own 
life on his own shoulders. He thought of this neces- 
sity, this duty, throughout one whole day, and deter- 
mined that on the morrow he would make the first 
step towards terminating his inaction, which he now 
began to be half impatient of, at the same time that 
he clutched it still, for the sake of the deliciousness 
that it had had. 

To-morrow, I hope to be clothed and in my right 
mind,” said he to the old palmer, and very soon I 
must thank you, with my whole heart, for your kind 
care, and go. It is a shame that I burden the hospi- 
tality of this house so long.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 163 


shame whatever,” replied the old man, "‘but, 
on the contrary, the fittest thing that could have 
chanced. You are dependent on no private benevo- 
lence, nor on the good offices of any man now living, 
or who has lived these last three hundred years. 
This ancient establishment is for the support of pov- 
erty, misfortune, and age, and, according to the word 
of the founder, it serves him : — he was indebted to 
the beneficiaries, not they to him, for, in return for 
his temporal bequests, he asked their prayers for his 
soul’s welfare. He needed them, could they avail 
him ; for this ponderous structure was built upon the 
founder’s mortal transgressions, and even, I may say, 
out of the actual substance of them. Sir Edward 
Eedclyffe was a fierce fighter in the Wars of the Eoses, 
and amassed much wealth by spoil, rapine, confisca- 
tion, and aU violent and evil ways that those dis- 
turbed times opened to him ; and on his death-bed 
he founded this Hospital for twelve men, who should 
be able to prove kindred with his race, to dwell here 
with a stipend, and pray for him ; and likewise pro- 
vision for a sick stranger, until he should be able to 
go on his way again.” 

I shall pray for him willingly,” said Edward, moved 
by the pity which awaits any softened state of our 
natures to steal into our hearts. Though no Catho- 
lic, I will pray for his soul. And that is his crest 
which you wear embroidered on his garment ? ” 

It is,” said the old man. You will see it carved, 
painted, embroidered, everywhere about the establish- 


164 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


ment ; but let us give it the better and more reason- 
able interpretation ; — not that he sought to proclaim 
his own pride of ancestry and race, but to acknowledge 
his sins the more manifestly, by stamping the emblem 
of his race on this structure of his penitence.” 

And are you,” said Eedclyffe, impressed anew by 
the quiet dignity of the venerable speaker, in au- 
thority in the establishment ? ” 

simple beneficiary of the charity,” said the 
palmer ; ‘‘ one of the twelve poor brethren and kins- 
men of the founder. Slighter proofs of kindred are 
now of necessity received, since, in the natural course 
of things, the race has long been growing scarce. 
But I had it in my power to make out a sufficient 
claim.” 

Singular,” exclaimed Eedclyffe, "^you being an 
American ! ” ® 

"'You remember me, then,” said the old man, 
quietly. 

‘'From the first,” said Edward, "^although your im- 
age took the fantastic aspect of the bewilderment in 
which I then was ; and now that I am in clearer 
state of mind, it seems yet stranger that you should 
be here. We two children thought you translated, 
and people, I remember, whispered dark hints about 
your fate.” 

'"There was nothing wonderful in my disappear- 
ance,” said the old man. "There were causes, an 
impulse, an intuition, that made me feel, one par- 
ticular night, that I might meet harm, whether from 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 165 


myself or others, by remaining in a place with which 
I had the most casual connection. But I never, so 
long as I remained in America, quite lost sight of 
you; and Doctor Grimshawe, before his death, had 
knowledge of where I was, and gave me in charge a 
duty which I faithfully endeavored to perform. Sin- 
gular man that he was ! much evil, much good in 
him. Both, it may be, will live after him ! ” 

Eedclyffe, when the conversation had reached this 
point, felt a vast desire to reveal to the old man all 
that the grim Doctor had instilled into his childish 
mind, all that he himself, in subsequent years, had 
wrought more definitely out of it, all his accompa- 
nying doubts respecting the secret of his birth and 
some supposed claims which he might assert, and 
which, only half acknowledging the purpose, had 
availed to bring him, a republican, hither as to an 
ancestral centre. He even fancied that the benign 
old man seemed to expect and await such a confi- 
dence; but that very idea contributed to make it 
impossible for him to speak 

“Another time,” he said to himself. “Perhaps 
never. It is a fantastic folly; and with what the 
workhouse foundling has since achieved, he would 
give up too many hopes to take the representation of 
a mouldy old English family.’’ 

“I find my head still very weak,” said he, by way 
of cutting short the conversation. “I must try to 
sleep again.” 


166 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

The next day he called for his clothes, and, with 
the assistance of the pensioner, managed to be dressed, 
and awaited the arrival of the surgeon, sitting in a 
great easy-chair, with not much except his pale, thin 
cheeks, dark, thoughtful eyes, and his arm in a sling, 
to show the pain and danger through which he had 
passed. Soon after the departure of the professional 
gentleman, a step somewhat louder than ordinary was 
heard on the staircase, and in the corridor leading to 
the sick-chamber ; the step (as Eedclyffe’s perceptions, 
nicely attempered by his weakness, assured him) of a 
man in perfect and robust health, and of station and 
authority. A moment afterwards, a gentleman of 
middle age, or a little beyond, appeared in the door- 
way, in a dress that seemed clerical, yet not very 
decidedly so ; he had a frank, kindly, yet authorita- 
tive bearing, and a face that might almost be said to 
beam with geniality, when, as now, the benevolence 
of his nature was aroused and ready to express itself. 

‘"My friend,” said he, ‘'Doctor Portingale tells 
me you are much better ; and I am most happy to 
hear it.” 

There was something brusque and unceremonious 
in his manner, that a little jarred against Eedclyffe’s 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 167 


sensitiveness, which had become morbid in sympathy 
with liis weakness. He felt that the new-comer had 
not probably the right idea as to his own position in 
life ; he was addressing him most kindly, indeed, but 
as an inferior. 

“ I am much better, sir,” he replied, gravely, and 
with reserve; ‘"so nearly well, that I shall very soon 
be able to bid farewell to my kind nurse here, and 
to this ancient establishment, to which I owe so 
much.” 

The visitor seemed struck by Mr. Eedclyffe’s tone, 
and finely modulated voice, and glanced at his face, 
and then over his dress and figure, as if to gather 
from them some reliable data as to his station. 

I am the Warden of this Hospital,” said he, with 
not less benignity than heretofore, and greater cour- 
tesy ; and, in that capacity, must consider you un- 
der my care, — as my guest, in fact, — although, 
owing to my casual absence, one of the brethren of 
the house has been the active instrument in attending 
you. I am most happy to find you so far recovered. 
Do you feel yourself in a condition to give any ac- 
count of the accident which has befallen you ? ” 

“ It will be a very unsatisfactory one, at best,” said 
Eedclyffe, trying to discover some definite point in 
his misty reminiscences. I am a stranger to this 
country, and was on a pedestrian tour with the pur- 
pose of making myself acquainted with the aspects 
of English scenery and life. I had turned into a 
footpath, being told that it would lead me within 


168 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


view of an old Hall, which, from certain early asso- 
ciations, I was very desirous of seeing. I think I 
went astray ; at all events, the path became indis- 
tinct ; and, so far as I can recollect, I had just turned 
to retrace my steps, — in fact, that is the last thing 
in my memory.” 

You had almost fallen a sacrifice,” said the War- 
den, to the old preference which our English gentry 
have inherited from their Norman ancestry, of game 
to man. You had come unintentionally as an in- 
truder into a rich preserve much haunted by poach- 
ers, and exposed yourself to the deadly mark of a 
spring-gun, which had not the wit to distinguish 
between a harmless traveller and a poacher. At 
least, such is our conclusion ; for our old friend here, 
(who luckily for you is a great rambler in the woods,) 
when the report drew him to the spot, found you in- 
sensible, and the gun discharged.” 

“A gun has so little discretion,” said Eedclyffe, 
smiling, that it seems a pity to trust entirely to its 
judgment, in a matter of life and death. But, to con- 
fess the truth, I had come this morning to the suspi- 
cion that there was a direct human agency in the 
matter ; for I find missing a little pocket-book which 
I carried.” 

'^Then,” said the Warden, ''that certainly gives a 
new aspect to the affair. Was it of value ? ” 

" Of none whatever,” said Eedclyffe, " merely con- 
taining pencil memoranda, and notes of a traveller’s 
little expenses. I had papers about me of far more 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 169 


value, and a moderate sum of money, a letter of 
credit, which have escaped. I do not, however, feel 
inclined, on such grounds, to transfer the guilt de- 
cidedly from the spring-gun to any more responsible 
criminal ; for it is very possible that the pocket-book, 
being carelessly carried, might have been lost on the 
way. I had not used it since the preceding day.” 

Much more probable, indeed,” said the Warden. 
The discharged gun is strong evidence against it- 
self. Mr. Colcord,” continued he, raising his voice, 
how long was the interval between the discharge of 
the gun and your arrival on the spot.” 

Five minutes, or less,” said the old man, for I 
was not far off, and made what haste I could, it being 
borne in on my spirit that mischief was abroad.” 

“ Did you hear two reports ? ” asked the Warden. 

“ Only one,” replied Colcord. 

^‘It is a plain case against the spring-gun,” said the 
Warden ; and, as you tell me you are a stranger, I 
trust you will not suppose that our peaceful English 
woods and parks are the haunt of banditti. We must 
try to give you a better idea of us. May I ask, are 
you an American, and recently come among us ? ” 

" I believe a letter of credit is considered as deci- 
sive as most modes of introduction,” said Eedclyffe, 
feeling that the good Warden was desirous of know- 
ing with some precision who and what he was, and 
that, in the circumstances, he had a right to such 
knowledge. Here is mine, on a respectable house 
in London.” 


170 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


The Warden took it, and glanced it over with a 
slight apologetic bow ; it was a credit for a hand- 
some amount in favor of the Honorable Edward 
Eedclyffe, a title that did not fail to impress the 
Englishman rather favorably towards his new ac- 
quaintance, although he happened to know some- 
thing of their abundance, even so early in the 
republic, among the men branded sons of equality. 
But, at all events, it showed no ordinary ability and 
energy for so young a man to have held such j)osi- 
tion as this title denoted in the fiercely contested 
political struggles of the new democracy. 

Do you know, Mr. Eedclyffe, that this name is 
familiar to us, hereabouts ? ’’ asked he, with a kindly 
bow and recognition, — that it is in fact the princi- 
pal name in this neighborhood, — that a family of 
your name still possesses Braithwaite Hall, and that 
this very Hospital, where you have happily found 
shelter, was founded by former representatives of 
your name ? Perhaps you count yourself among 
their kindred.’’ 

“ My countrymen are apt to advance claims to 
kinship with distinguished English families on such 
slight grounds as to make it ridiculous,” said Eed- 
clyffe, coloring. "I should not choose to follow so 
absurd an example.” 

Well, well, perhaps not,” said the Warden, laugh- 
ing frankly. I have been amongst your republicans 
myself, a long while ago, and saw that your country- 
men have no adequate idea of the sacredness of pedi- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 171 


grees, and heraldic distinctions, and would change 
their own names at pleasure, and vaunt kindred with 
an English duke on the strength of the assumed one. 
But I am happy to meet an American gentleman who 
looks upon this matter as Englishmen necessarily 
must. I met with great kindness in your country, 
Mr. Eedclyfie, and shall be truly happy if you will 
allow me an opportunity of returning some small part 
of the obligation. You are now in a condition for re- 
moval to my own quarters, across the quadrangle. I 
will give orders to prepare an apartment, and you 
must transfer yourself there by dinner-time.” 

With this hospitable proposal, so decisively ex- 
pressed, the Warden took his leave ; and Edward Eed- 
clyfife had hardly yet recovered sufficient independent 
force to reject an invitation so put, even were he in- 
clined; but, in truth, the proposal suited well with 
his wishes, such as they were, and was, moreover, 
backed, it is singular to say, by another of those 
dreamlike recognitions which had so perplexed him 
ever since he found himself in the Hospital. In 
some previous state of being, the Warden and he 
had talked together before. 

What is the Warden’s name ? ” he inquired of the 
old pensioner. 

‘‘Hammond,” said the old man; “he is a kinsman 
of the EedclyfPe family himself, a man of fortune, and 
spends more than the income of his wardenship in 
beautifying and keeping up the glory of the establish- 
ment. He takes great pride in it.” 


172 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


^'And he has been in America,” said Eedclyffe. 

How strange ! I knew him there. Never was any- 
thing so singular as the discovery of old acquaintances 
where I had reason to suppose myself unknowing and 
unknown. Unless dear Doctor Grim, or dear little 
Elsie, were to start up and greet me, I know not what 
may chance next.” 

Eedclyffe took up his quarters in the Warden’s 
house the next day, and was installed in an apart- 
ment that made a picture, such as he had not before 
seen, of English household comfort. He was thus 
established under the good Warden’s roof, and, being 
very attractive of most people’s sympathies, soon 
began to grow greatly in favor with that kindly 
personage. 

When Edward Eedclyffe removed from the old pen- 
sioner’s narrow quarters to the far ampler accommo- 
dations of the Warden’s house, the latter gentleman 
was taking his morning exercise on horseback. A 
servant, however, in a grave livery, ushered him to 
an apartment, where the new guest was surprised to 
see some luggage which two or tliree days before 
Edward had ordered from London, on finding that his 
stay in this part of the country was likely to be much 
longer than he had originally contemplated. The 
sight of these things — the sense which they conveyed 
that he was an expected and welcome guest — tended 
to raise the spirits of the solitary wanderer, and made 
him . . . .^ 

The Warden’s abode was an original part of the 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 173 


ancient establishment, being an entire side of the 
quadrangle which the whole edifice surrounded ; and 
for the establishment of a bachelor (which was his 
new friend’s condition), it seemed to Edward Eedclyfife 
abundantly spacious and enviably comfortable. His 
own chamber had a grave, rich depth, as it were, of 
serene and time-long garniture, for purposes of repose, 
convenience, daily and nightly comfort, that it was 
soothing even to look at. Long accustomed, as Eed- 
clyife had been, to the hardy and rude accommoda- 
tions, if so they were to be called, of log huts and 
hasty, mud-built houses in the Western States of 
America, life, its daily habits, its passing accommoda- 
tions, seemed to assume an importance, under these 
aspects, which it had not worn before ; those deep 
downy beds, those antique chairs, the heavy carpet, 
the tester .and curtains, the stateliness of the old 
room, — they had a charm as compared with the thin 
preparation of a forester’s bedchamber, such as Eed- 
clyffe had chiefly known them, in the ruder parts of 
the country, that really seemed to give a more sub- 
stantial value to life ; so much pains had been taken 
w’ith its modes and appliances, that it looked more 
solid than before. Nevertheless, there was something 
ghostly in that stately curtained bed, with the deep 
gloom within its drapery, so ancient as it was ; and 
suggestive of slumberers there who had long since 
slumbered elsewhere. 

The old servant, whose grave, circumspect courtesy 
was a matter quite beyond Eedclyffe’s experience, 


174 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


soon knocked at the chamber door, and suggested 
that the guest might desire to await the Warden’s 
aiTival in the library, which was the customary sit- 
ting-room. Eedclyffe assenting, he was ushered into 
a spacious apartment, lighted by various Gothic win- 
dows, surrounded with old oaken cases, in which 
were ranged volumes, most or many of which seemed 
to be coeval with the foundation of the hospital ; and 
opening one of them, Eedclyffe saw for the first time 
in his life ^ a genuine book-worm, that ancient form 
of creature living upon literature ; it had gnawed a 
circular hole, penetrating through perhaps a score of 
pages of the seldom opened volume, and was still at 
his musty feast. There was a fragrance of old learn- 
ing in this ancient library; a soothing influence, as 
the American felt, of time-honored ideas, where the 
strife, novelties, uneasy agitating conflict, attrition of 
unsettled theories, fresh-springing thought, did not 
attain a foothold ; a good place to spend a life which 
should not be agitated with the disturbing element ; 
so quiet, so peaceful; how slowly, with how little 
wear, would the years pass here 1 How unlike what 
he had hitherto known, and was destined to know, — 
the quick, violent struggle of his mother country, 
which had traced lines in his young brow already. 
How much would be saved by taking his former 
existence, not as dealing with things yet malleable, 
but with fossils, things that had had their life, and 
now were unchangeable, and revered, here ! 

At one end of this large room there was a bowed 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 175 


window, the space near which was curtained off from 
the rest of the library, and, the window being filled 
with painted glass (most of which seemed old, though 
there were insertions evidently of modern and much 
inferior handiwork), there was a rich gloom of light, 
or you might call it a rich glow, according to your 
mood of mind. Eedclyffe soon perceived that this 
curtained recess was the especial study of his friend, 
the Warden, and as such was provided with all that 
modern times had contrived for making an enjoy- 
ment out of the perusal of old books ; a study table, 
with every convenience of multifarious devices, a 
great inkstand, pens ; a luxurious study chair, where 
thought [illegible] upon. To say the truth, there was 
not, in this retired and thoughtful nook, anything 
that indicated to Eedclyffe that the Warden had been 
recently engaged in consultation of learned authori- 
ties, — or in abstract labor, whether moral, metaphys- 
ical or historic ; there was a volume of translations 
of Mother Goose’s Melodies into Greek and Latin, 
printed for private circulation, and with the War- 
den’s name on the title-page ; a London newspaper 
of the preceding day; Lillebullero, Chevy Chase, 
and the old political ballads; and, what a little 
amused Eedclyffe, the three volumes of a novel from 
a circulating library ; so that Eedclyffe came to the 
conclusion that the good Warden, like many educated 
men, whose early scholastic propensities are backed 
up by the best of opportunities, and all desirable 
facilities and surroundings, still contented himself 


176 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


with gathering a flower or two, instead of attempting 
the hard toil requisite to raise a crop. 

It must not be omitted, that there was a fragrance 
in the room, which, unlike as the scene was, brought 
back, through so many years, to Eedclyffe’s mind a 
most vivid remembrance of poor old Doctor Grim’s 
squalid chamber, with his wild, bearded presence in 
the midst of it, puffing his everlasting cloud; for 
here was the same smell of tobacco, and on the man- 
tel-piece of a chimney lay a German pipe, and an old 
silver tobacco-box into which was wrought the leop- 
ard’s head and the inscription in black letter. The 
Warden had evidently availed himself of one of the 
chief bachelor sources of comfort. Eedclyffe, whose 
destiny had hitherto, and up to a very recent period, 
been to pass a feverishly active life, was greatly im- 
pressed by all these tokens of learned ease, — a degree 
of self-indulgence combined with duties enough to 
quiet an otherwise uneasy conscience, — by the con- 
sideration that this pensioner acted a good part in a 
world where no one is entitled to be an unprofitable 
laborer. He thought within himself, that his pros- 
pects in his own galvanized country, that seemed to 
him, a few years since, to offer such a career for an 
adventurous young man, conscious of motive power, 
had nothing so enticing as such a nook as this, — 
a quiet recess of unchangeable old time, around 
which the turbulent tide now eddied and rushed, but 
could not disturb it. Here, to be sure, hope, love, 
ambition, came not, progress came not ; but here was 


DOCTOR GRIMSEAWRS SECRET. 177 


what, just now, the early wearied American could 
appreciate better than aught else, — here was rest. 

The fantasy took Edward to imitate the useful 
labors of the learned Warden, and to make trial 
whether his own classical condition — the results of 
Doctor Grim’s tuition, and subsequently that of an 
American College — had utterly deserted him, by 
attempting a translation of a few verses of Yankee 
Doodle ; and he was making hopeful progress when 
the Warden came in fresh and rosy from a morning’s 
ride in a keen east wind. He shook hands heartily 
with his guest, and, though by no means frigid at 
their former interview, seemed to have developed at 
once into a kindlier man, now that he had suffered 
the stranger to cross his threshold, and had thus 
made himself responsible for his comfort. 

‘‘ I shall take it greatly amiss,” said he, " if you do 
not pick up fast under my roof, and gather a little 
English ruddiness, moreover, in the walks and rides 
that I mean to take you. Your countrymen, as I 
saw them, are a sallow set ; but I think you must 
have English blood enough in your veins to eke out 
a ruddy tint, with the help of good English beef 
and ale, and daily draughts of wholesome light and 
air.” 

“ My cheeks would not have been so very pale,” 
said Edward, laughing, '' if an English shot had not 
deprived me of a good deal of my American blood.” 

" Only follow my guidance,” said the Warden, 
“and I assure you you shall have back whatever 
12 


178 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


blood we have deprived you of, together with an 
addition. It is now luncheon-time, and we will be- 
gin the process of replenishing your veins.’' 

So they went into a refectory, where were spread 
upon the board what might have seemed a goodly din- 
ner to most Americans; though for this Englishman it 
was but a by-incident, a slight refreshment, to enable 
him to pass the midway stage of life. It is an ex- 
cellent thing to see the faith of a hearty Englishman 
in his own stomach, and how well that kindly organ 
repays his trust; with what devout assimilation he 
takes to himself his kindred beef, loving it, believ- 
ing in it, making a good use of it, and without any 
qualms of conscience or prescience as to the result. 
They surely eat twice as much as we ; and probably 
because of their undoubted faith it never does them 
any harm. Dyspepsia is merely a superstition with 
us. If we could cease to believe in its existence, it 
would exist no more. Kedclyffe, eating little him- 
self, his wound compelling him to be cautious as to 
his diet, was secretly delighted to see what sweets the 
Warden found in a cold round of beef, in a pigeon 
pie, and a cut or two of Yorkshire ham ; not that he 
was ravenous, but that his stomach was so healthy. 

You eat little, my friend,” said the Warden, pour- 
ing out a glass of sherrj^ for Eedclyffe, and another 
for himself. '' But you are right, in such a predica- 
ment as yours. Spare your stomach while you are 
weakly, and it will help you when you are strong. 
This, now, is the most enjoyable meal of the day 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 179 


with me. You will not see me play such a knife 
and fork at dinner ; though there too, especially if I 
have ridden out in the afternoon, I do pretty well. 
But, come now, if (like most of your countrymen, as 
I have heard) you are a lover of the weed, I can offer 
you some as delicate Latakia as you are likely to find 
in England.’’ 

“ I lack that claim upon your kindness, I am sorry 
to say,” replied Eedclyffe. I am not a good smoker, 
though I have occasionally taken a cigar at need.” 

“Well, when you find yourself growing old, and 
especially if you chance to be a bachelor, I advise 
you to cultivate the habit,” said the Warden. “ A 
wife is the only real obstacle or objection to a pipe ; 
they can seldom be thoroughly reconciled, and there- 
fore it is well for a man to consider, beforehand, 
which of the two he can best dispense with. I know 
not how it might have been once, had the conflicting 
claim of these two rivals ever been fairly presented 
to me ; but I now should be at no loss to choose the 
pipe.” 

They returned to the study ; and while the War- 
den took his pipe, Eedclyffe, considering that, as the 
guest of this hospitable Englishman, he had no right 
to continue a stranger, thought it fit to make known 
to him who he was, and his condition, plans, and 
purposes. He represented himself as having been 
liberally educated, bred to the law, but (to his mis- 
fortune) having turned aside from that profession to 
engage in politics. In this pursuit, indeed, his sue- 


180 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET, 


cess wore a flattering outside ; for he had become 
distinguished, and, though so young, a leader, locally 
at least, in the party which he had adopted. He had 
been, for a biennial term, a member of Congress, after 
winning some distinction in the legislature of his 
native State ; but some one of those fitful changes 
to which American politics are peculiarly liable had 
thrown him out, in his candidacy for his second 
term ; and the virulence of party animosity, the 
abusiveness of the press, had acted so much upon 
a disposition naturally somewhat too sensitive for 
the career which he had undertaken, that he had 
resolved, being now freed from legislative cares, to 
seize the opportunity for a visit to England, whither 
he was drawn by feelings which every educated and 
impressible American feels, in a degree scarcely con- 
ceivable by the English themselves. And being here 
(but he had already too much experience of English 
self-sufficiency to confess so much) he began to feel 
the deep yearning which a sensitive American — his 
mind full of English thoughts, his imagination of 
English poetry, his heart of English character and 
sentiment — cannot fail to be influenced by, — the 
yearning of the blood within his veins for that from 
which it has been estranged ; the half-fanciful regret 
that he should ever have been separated from these 
woods, these fields, these natural features of scenery, 
to which his nature was moulded, from the men 
who are still so like himself, from these habits of 
life and thought which (though he may not have 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 181 


known them for two centuries) he still perceives to 
have remained in some mysterious way latent in the 
depths of his character, and soon to he reassumed, 
not as a foreigner would do it, but like habits native 
to him, and only suspended for a season. 

This had been Eedclyffe’s state of feeling ever 
since he landed in England, and every day seemed 
to make him more at home ; so that it seemed as if 
he were gradually awakening to a former reality. 


182 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

After lunch the Warden showed a good degree of 
kind anxiety about his guest, and ensconced him in a 
most comfortable chair in his study, where he gave 
him his choice of books old and new, and was some- 
what surprised, as well as amused, to see that Eed- 
clyffe seemed most attracted towards a department 
of the library filled with books of English antiquities, 
and genealogies, and heraldry ; the two latter, indeed, 
having the preference over the others. 

‘‘This is very remarkable,^' said he, smiling. “By 
what right or reason, by what logic of character, can 
you, a democrat, renouncing all advantages of birth, 
— neither priding yourself on family, nor seeking to 
found one, — how therefore can you care for genealo- 
gies, or for this fantastic science of heraldry ? Hav- 
ing no antiquities, being a people just made, how can 
you care for them ? " 

“My dear sir," said Eedclyfie, “I doubt whether 
the most devoted antiquarian in England ever cares 
to search for an old thing merely because it is old, as 
any American just landed on your shores would do. 
Age is our novelty ; therefore it attracts and absorbs 
us. And as for genealogies, I know not what neces- 
sary repulsion there may be between it and democ- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET, 183 


racy. A line of respectable connections, being the 
harder to preserve where there is nothing in the laws 
to defend it, is therefore the more precious when we 
have it really to boast of.’' 

"'True,” said the Warden, "when a race keeps itself 
distinguished among the grimy order of your com- 
monalty, all with equal legal rights to place and 
eminence as itself, it must needs be because there is 
a force and efficacy in the blood. I doubt not,” he 
said, looking with the free approval of an elder man 
at the young man’s finely developed face and graceful 
form, — "I doubt not that you can look back upon 
a line of ancestry, always shining out from the sur- 
rounding obscurity of the mob.” 

Eedclyffe, though ashamed of himself, could not 
but feel a paltry confusion and embarrassment, as he 
thought of his unknown origin, and his advent from 
the almshouse ; coming out of that squalid darkness 
as if he were a thing that had had a spontaneous 
birth out of poverty, meanness, petty crime ; and here 
in ancestral England, he felt more keenly than ever 
before what was his misfortune. 

"I must not let you lie under this impression,” 
said he manfully to the Warden. " I have no ancestry ; 
at the very first step my origin is lost in impenetrable 
obscurity. I only know that but for the aid of a 
kind friend — on whose benevolence I seem to have 
had no claim whatever — my life would probably 
have been poor, mean, unenlightened.” 

Well, well,” said the kind Warden, — hardly quite 


184 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


feeling, however, the noble sentiment which he ex- 
pressed, — "it is better to be the first noble illustrator 
of a name than even the worthy heir of a name that 
has been noble and famous for a thousand years. The 
highest pride of some of our peers, who have won 
their rank by their own force, has been to point to 
the cottage whence they sprung. Your posterity, at 
all events, will have the advantage of you, — they 
will know their ancestor.” 

Eedclyffe sighed, for there was truly a great deal of 
the foolish yearning for a connection with the past 
about him ; his imagination had taken this turn, and 
the very circumstances of his obscure birth gave it a 
field to exercise itself. 

"I advise you,” said the Warden, by way of chan- 
ging the conversation, “to look over the excellent 
history of the county which you are now in. There 
is no reading better, to my mind, than these country 
histories; though doubtless a stranger would hardly 
feel so much interest in them as one whose progeni- 
tors, male or female, have strewn their dust over the 
whole field of which the history treats. This history 
is a fine specimen of the kind.” 

The work to which Eedclifife’s attention was thus 
drawn was in two large folio volumes, published about 
thirty years before, bound in calf by some famous 
artist in that line, illustrated with portraits and views 
of ruined castles, churches, cathedrals, the seats of 
nobility and gentry ; Eoman, British, and Saxon re- 
mains, painted windows, oak carvings, and so forth. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 185 


And as for its contents the author ascended for the 
history of the county as far as into the pre-Eoman 
ages, before Csesar had ever heard of Britain; and 
brought it down, an ever swelling and increasing tale, 
to his own days ; inclusive of the separate histories, 
and pedigrees, and hereditary legends, and incidents, 
of all the principal families. In this latter branch 
of information, indeed, the work seemed particularly 
full, and contained every incident that would have 
worked well into historical romance. 

‘‘Aye, aye,’' said the Warden, laughing at some 
strange incident of this sort which Eedclyffe read out 
to him. “ My old friend Gibber, the learned author 
of this work, (he has been dead this score of years, so 
he will not mind my saying it,) had a little too much 
the habit of seeking his authorities in the cottage 
chimney-corners. I mean that an old woman’s tale 
was just about as acceptable to him as a recorded 
fact ; and to say the truth, they are really apt to have 
ten times the life in them.” 

Eedclyffe saw in the volume a full account of the 
founding of the Hospital, its regulations and pur- 
poses, its edifices ; all of which he reserved for future 
reading, being for the present more attracted by the 
mouldy gossip of family anecdotes which we have 
alluded to. Some of these, and not the least singular, 
referred to the ancient family which had founded the 
Hospital ; and he was attracted by seeing a mention 
of a Bloody Footstep, which reminded him of the 
strange old story which good Doctor Grimshawe had 


186 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

related by his New England fireside, in those childish 
days when Edward dwelt with him by the graveyard. 
On reading it, however, he found that the English 
legend, if such it could be called, was far less full and 
explicit than that of New England. Indeed, it as- 
signed various origins to the Bloody Footstep ; — one 
being, that it was the stamp of the foot of the Saxon 
thane, who fought at his own threshold against the 
assault of the Norman baron, who seized his mansion 
at the Conquest; another, that it was the imprint of a 
fugitive who had sought shelter from the lady of the 
house during the Wars of the Eoses, and was dragged 
out by her husband, and slain on the door-step ; still 
another, that it was the footstep of a Protestant in 
Bloody Mary’s days, who, being sent to prison by the 
squire of that epoch, had lifted his hands to Heaven, 
and stamped his foot, in appeal as against the unjust 
violence with which he was treated, and stamping his 
foot, it had left the bloody mark. It was hinted too, 
however, that another version, which out of delicacy 
to the family the author was reluctant to state, as- 
signed the origin of the Bloody Footstep to so late a 
period as the wars of the Parliament. And, finally, 
there was an odious rumor that what was called the 
Bloody Footstep was nothing miraculous, after all, 
but most probably a natural reddish stain in the stone 
door-step ; but against this heresy the excellent Dr. 
Gibber set his face most sturdily. 

The original legend had made such an impression 
on Eedclyffe’s childish fancy, that he became strangely 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAW&S SECRET. 187 


interested in thus discovering it, or something re- 
motely like it, in England, and being brought by such 
unsought means to reside so near it. Curious about 
the family to which it had occurred, he proceeded to 
examine its records, as given in the County History. 
The name was Eedclyffe. Like most English pedi- 
grees, there was an obscurity about a good many of 
the earlier links ; but the line was traced out with 
reasonable definiteness from the days of Cceur de Lion, 
and there was said to be a cross-legged ancestor in the 
village church, who (but the inscription was obliter- 
ated) was probably a Eedclyffe, and had fought either 
under the Lion Heart or in the Crusades. It was, in 
subsequent ages, one of the most distinguished fami- 
lies, though there had been turbulent men in all those 
turbulent times, hard fighters. In one age, a barony 
of early creation seemed to have come into the fam- 
ily, and had been, as it were, playing bo-peep with 
the race for several centuries. Some of them had 
actually assumed the title; others had given it up 
for lack of sufficient proof; but still there was such 
a claim, and up to the time at which this County 
History was written, it had neither been made out, 
nor had the hope of doing so been relinquished. 

‘‘ Have the family,” asked Eedclyffe of his host, 
"ever yet made out their claim to this title, which 
has so long been playing the will-of-the-wisp with 
them ? ” 

" Ho, not yet,” said the Warden, puffing out a vol- 
ume of smoke from his meerschaum, and making it 


188 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


curl up to the ceiling. "Their claim has as little 
substance, in my belief, as yonder vanishing vapor 
from my pipe. But they still keep up their delusion. 
I had supposed that the claim would perish with the 
last squire, who was a childless man, — at least, with- 
out legitimate heirs; but this estate passed to one 
whom we can scarcely call an Englishman, he being a 
Catholic, the descendant of forefathers who have lived 
in Italy since the time of George II., and who is, 
moreover, a Catholic. We English would not will- 
ingly see an ancestral honor in the possession of such 
a man ! ” 

" Is there, do you think, a prospect of his success ? ’’ 

" I have heard so, but hardly believe it,'' replied 
the Warden. " I remember, some dozen or fifteen 
years ago, it was given out that some clue had been 
found to the only piece of evidence that was wanting. 
It had been said that there was an emigration to your 
own country, above a hundred years ago, and on ac- 
count of some family feud; the true heir had gone 
thither and never returned. Now, the point was to 
prove the extinction of this branch of the family 
But, excuse me, I must pay an official visit to my 
charge here. Will you accompany me, or continue 
to pore over the County History ? " 

Eedclyffe felt enough of the elasticity of convales- 
cence to be desirous of accompanying the Warden; 
and they accordingly crossed the enclosed quadrangle 
to the entrance of the Hospital portion of the large 
and intricate structure. It was a building of the 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 189 


early Elizabethan age, a plaster and timber structure, 
like many houses of that period and much earlier.^ 
Around this court stood the building, with the date 
1437 cut on the front. On each side, a row of gables 
looked upon the enclosed space, most venerable old 
gables, with heavy mullioned windows filled with 
little diamond panes of glass, and opening on lat- 
tices. On two sides there was a cloistered walk, un- 
der echoing arches, and in the midst a spacious lawn 
of the greenest and loveliest grass, such as England 
only can show, and which, there, is of perennial ver- 
dure and beauty. In the midst stood a stone statue 
of a venerable man, wrought in the best of mediaeval 
sculpture, with robe and rufP, and tunic and venerable 
beard, resting on a staff, and holding what looked like 
a clasped book in his hand. The English atmos- 
phere, together with the coal smoke, settling down in 
the space of centuries from the chimneys of the Hos- 
pital, had roughened and blackened this venerable 
piece of sculpture, enclosing it as it were in a super- 
ficies of decay ; but still (and perhaps the more from 
these tokens of having stood so long among men) the 
statue had an aspect of venerable life, and of con- 
nection with human life, that made it strongly im- 
pressive. 

This is the effigy of Sir Edward Eedclyffe, the 
founder of the Hospital,” said the Warden. ‘‘ He is 
a most peaceful and venerable old gentleman in his 
attire and aspect, as you see ; but he was a fierce old 
fellow in his day, and is said to have founded the 


190 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


Hospital as a means of appeasing Heaven for some 
particular deed of blood, which he had imposed upon 
his conscience in the War of the Eoses.” 

Yes/’ said Eedclyffe, I have just read in the 
County History that the Bloody Footstep was said to 
have been imprinted in his time. But what is that 
thing which he holds in his hand ? ” 

‘‘ It is a famous heirloom of the Eedclyffes,” said 
the Warden, ‘‘ on the possession of which (as long as 
they did possess it) they prided themselves, it is said, 
more than on their ancient manor-house. It was a 
Saxon ornament, which a certain ancestor was said 
to have had from Harold, the old Saxon king ; but if 
there ever was any such article, it has been missing 
from the family mansion for two or three hundred 
years. There is not known to be an antique relic of 
that description now in existence.” 

I remember having seen such an article, — yes, 
precisely of that shape,” observed Eedclyffe, '' in the 
possession of a very dear old friend of mine, when I 
was a boy.” 

What, in America ? ” exclaimed the Warden. 

That is very remarkable. The time of its being 
missed coincides well enough with that of the early 
settlement of New England. Some Puritan, before 
his departure, may have thought himself doing God 
service by filching the old golden gewgaw from the 
Cavalier ; for it was said to be fine, ductile gold.” 

The circumstances struck Eedclyffe with a pleasant 
wonder ; for, indeed, the old statue held the closest 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 191 


possible imitation, in marble, of that strange old glitter 
of gold which he himself had so often played with in 
the Doctor’s study ; ^ so identical, that he could have 
fancied that he saw the very thing, changed from 
metal into stone, even with its bruises and other 
casual marks in it. As he looked at the old statue, 
his imagination played with it, and his naturally 
great impressibility half made him imagine that the 
old face looked at him with a keen, subtile, wary 
glance, as if acknowledging that it held some se- 
cret, but at the same time defying him to find it 
out. And then again came that visionary feeling 
that had so often swept over him since he had 
been an inmate of the Hospital. 

All over the interior part of the building was 
carved in stone the leopard’s head, with wearisome 
iteration ; as if the founder were anxious to imprint 
his device so numerously, lest — when he produced 
this edifice as his remuneration to Eternal Justice 
for many sins — the Omniscient Eye should fail to 
be reminded that Sir Edward Eedclyffe had done it. 
But, at all events, it seemed to Eedclyffe that the 
ancient knight had purposed a good thing, and in a 
measurable degree had effected it ; for here stood the 
venerable edifice securely founded, bearing the moss 
of four hundred years upon it ; and though wars, and 
change of dynasties, and religious change, had swept 
around it, with seemingly destructive potency, yet 
here had the lodging, the food, the monastic privi- 
leges of the brethren been held secure, and were un- 


192 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


changed by all the altering manners of the age. The 
old fellow, somehow or other, seemed to have struck 
upon an everlasting rock, and founded his pompous 
charity there. 

They entered an arched door on the left of the 
quadrangle, and found themselves in a dark old 
hall with oaken beams ; to say the truth, it was a 
barn-like sort of enclosure, and was now used as a 
sort of rubbish-place for the Hospital, where they 
stored away old furniture, and where carpenter’s work 
might be done. And yet, as the Warden assured Eed- 
clyffe, it was once a hall of state, hung with tapestry, 
carpeted, for aught he knew, with cloth of gold, and 
set with rich furniture, and a groaning board in the 
midst. Here, the hereditary patron of the Hospital 
had once entertained King James the First, who made 
a Latin speech on the occasion, a copy of which was 
still preserved in the archives. On the rafters of this 
old hall there were cobwebs in such abundance that 
Eedclyffe could not but reflect on the joy which old 
Doctor Grimshawe would have had in seeing them, 
and the health to the human race which he would 
have hoped to collect and distil from them. 

From this great, antique room they crossed the 
quadrangle and entered the kitchen of the establish- 
ment. A hospitable fire was burning there, and there 
seemed to be a great variety of messes cooking ; and 
the Warden explained to Eedclyffe that there was 
no general table in the Hospital ; but the brethren, at 
their own will and pleasure, either formed themselves 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 193 


into companies or messes, of any convenient size, or 
enjoyed a solitary meal by themselves, each in their 
own apartments. There was a goodly choice of sim- 
ple, but good and enjoyable food, and a sufficient 
supply of potent ale, brewed in the vats of the Hos- 
pital, which, among its other praiseworthy character- 
istics, was famous for this ; having at some epoch 
presumed to vie with the famous ale of Trinity, in 
Cambridge, and the Archdeacon of Oxford, — these 
having come down to the hospital from a private re- 
ceipt of Sir Edward’s butler, which was now lost in 
the Eedclyffe family ; nor would the ungTateful Hos- 
pital give up its secret even out of loyalty to its 
founder. 

I would use my influence with the brewer,” said 
the Warden, on communicating this little fact to Eed- 
clyffe; '^but the present man — now owner of the 
estate — is not worthy to have good ale brewed in 
his house ; having himself no taste for anything but 
Italian wines, wretched fellow that he is I He might 
make himself an Englishman if he would take heart- 
ily to our ale ; and with that end in view, I should 
be glad to give it him.” 

The kitchen fire blazed warmly, as we have said, 
and roast and stewed and boiled were in process of 
cookihg, producing a pleasant fume, while great heaps 
of wheaten loaves were smoking hat from the ovens, 
and the master cook and his subordinates were in 
fume and hiss, like beings that were of a fiery ele- 
ment, and, though irritable and scorching, yet were 
13 


194 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


happier here than they could have been in any other 
situation. The Warden seemed to have an especial 
interest and delight in this department of the Hos- 
pital, and spoke apart to the head cook on the subject 
(as Eedclyffe surmised from what he overheard) of 
some especial delicacy for his own table that day. 

This kitchen is a genial place,’' said he to Eed- 
clyffe, as they retired. In the evening, after the 
cooks have done their work, the brethren have liberty 
to use it as a sort of common room, and to sit here 
over their ale till a reasonable bedtime. It would 
interest you much to make one at such a party ; for 
they have had a varied experience in life, each one 
for himself, and it would be strange to hear the varied 
roads by which they have come hither.” 

Yes,” replied Eedclyffe, and, I presume, not one 
of them ever dreamed of coming hither when he 
started in life. The only one with whom I am 
acquainted could hardly have expected it, at all 
events.” 

“ He is a remarkable man, more so than you may 
have had an opportunity of knowing,” said the War- 
den. “ I know not his history, for he is not commu- 
nicative on that subject, and it was only necessary 
for him to make out his proofs of claim to the charity 
to the satisfaction of the Curators. But it has often 
struck me that there must have been strange and 
striking events in his life, — though how it could 
have been without his attracting attention and being 
known, I cannot say. I have myself often received 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 195 


good counsel from him in the conduct of the Hospital, 
and the present owner of the Hall seems to have taken 
him for his counsellor and confidant, being himself 
strange to English affairs and life.’’ 

I should like to call on him, as a matter of course 
rather than courtesy,” observed Eedclyffe, ‘‘ and thank 
him for his great kindness.” 

They accordingly ascended the dark oaken stair- 
case with its black balustrade, and approached the 
old man’s chamber, the door of which they found 
open, and in the blurred looking-glass which hung 
deep within the room Eedclyffe was surprised to 
perceive the young face of a woman, who seemed to 
be arranging her head-gear, as worsen are always 
doing. It was but a moment, and then it vanished 
like a vision. 

“ 1 was not aware,” he said, turning to the Warden, 
'‘that there was a feminine side to this establish- 
ment.” 

"Hor is there,” said the old bachelor, "else it would 
not have held together so many ages as it has. The 
establishment has its own wise, monkish regulations ; 
but we cannot prevent the fact, that some of the 
brethren may have had foolish relations with the 
other sex at some previous period of their lives. This 
seems to be the case with our wise old friend of whom 
we have been speaking, — whereby he doubtless be- 
came both wiser and sadder. If you have seen a 
female face here, it is that of a relative who resides 
out of the hospital, — an excellent young lady, I 
believe, who has charge of a school” 


196 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


While he was speaking, the young lady in question 
passed out, greeting the Warden in a cheerful, re- 
spectful way, in which deference to him was well 
combined with a sense of what was due to herself. 

"'That,” observed the Warden, who had returned 
her courtesy, with a kindly air betwixt that of gentle- 
manly courtesy and a superior’s acknowledgment, — 
" that is the relative of our old friend ; a young per- 
son — a gentlewoman, I may almost call her — who 
teaches a little school in the village here, and keeps 
her guardian’s heart warm, no doubt, with her pres- 
ence. An excellent young woman, I do believe, and 
very useful and faithful in her station.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 197 


CHAPTEE XVL 

On entering the old palmer’s apartment, they 
found him looking over some ancient papers, yellow 
and crabbedly written, and on one of them a large 
old seal, all of which he did up in a bundle and en- 
closed in a parchment cover, so that, before they 
were well in the room, the documents were removed 
from view. 

‘"Those papers and parchments have a fine old 
yellow tint, Colcord,” said the Warden, “very satis- 
factory to an antiquary.” 

“ There is nothing in them,” said the old man, “ of 
general interest. Some old papers they are, which 
came into my possession by inheritance, and some of 
them relating to the affairs of a friend of my youth ; 
— a long past time, and a long past friend,” added he, 
sighing. 

“Here is a new friend, at all events,” said the 
kindly Warden, wishing to cheer the old man, “ who 
feels himself greatly indebted to you for your care.” ^ 

There now ensued a conversation between the 
three, in the course of which reference was made to 
America, and the Warden’s visit there. 

“You are so mobile,” he said, “you change so 


198 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


speedily, that I suppose there are few external things 
now that I should recognize. The face of your coun- 
try changes like one of your own sheets of water, 
under the influence of sun, cloud, and wind; hut I 
suppose there is a depth below that is seldom effectu- 
ally stirred. It is a great fault of the country that its 
sons And it impossible to feel any patriotism for it.” 

“ I do not by any means acknowledge that impos-. 
sibility,” responded Eedclyffe, with a smile. '‘I cer- 
tainly feel that sentiment very strongly in my own 
breast, more especially since I have left America 
three thousand miles behind me.” 

''Yes, it is only the feeling of self-assertion that 
rises against the self-complacency of the English,” 
said the Warden. "Nothing else; for what else 
have you become the subject of this noble weakness 
of patriotism? You cannot love anything beyond 
the soil of your own estate ; or in your case, if your 
heart is very large, you may possibly take in, in a 
quiet sort of way, the whole of New England. What 
more is possible ? How can you feel a heart’s love 
for a mere political arrangement, like your Union ? 
How can you be loyal, where personal attachment — 
the lofty and noble and unselfish attachment of 
a subject to his prince — is out of the question? 
where your sovereign is felt to be a mere man like 
yourselves, whose petty struggles, whose ambition — 
mean before it grew to be audacious — you have 
watched, and know him to be just the same now as 
yesterday, and that to-morrow he will be walking un- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 199 


honored amongst yon again ? Yonr system is too bare 
and meagre for human nature to love, or to endure it 
long. These stately degrees of society, that have so 
strong a hold upon us in England, are not to be done 
away with so lightly as you think. Your experiment 
is not yet a success by any means ; and you will live 
to see it result otherwise than you think ! ” 

'‘It is natural for you Englishmen to feel thus,^' 
said Eedclyffe ; " although, ever since I set my foot 
on your shores, — forgive me, but you set me the 
example of free speech, — I have had a feeling of 
coming change among all that you look upon as so 
permanent, so everlasting ; and though your thoughts 
dwell fondly on things as they are and have been, 
there is a deep destruction somewhere in this coun- 
try, that is inevitably impelling it in the path of my 
own. But I care not for this. I do aver that I love 
my country, that I am proud of its institutions, that 
I have a feeling unknown, probably, to any but a 
republican, but which is the proudest thing in me, 
that there is no man above me, — for my ruler is 
only myself, in the person of another, whose office I 
impose upon him, — nor any below me. If you 
would understand me, I would tell you of the shame 
I felt when first, on setting foot in this country, I 
heard a man speaking of his birth as giving him 
privileges ; saw him looking down on laboring men, 
as of an inferior race. And what I can never under- 
stand, is the pride which you positively seem to 
feel in having men and classes of men above you. 


200 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


born to privileges wbicb you can never hope to share. 
It may be a thing to be endured, but surely not one 
to be absolutely proud of. And yet an Englishman 
is so.” 

" Ah ! I see we lack a ground to meet upon,” said 
the Warden. ""We can never truly understand each 
other. What you have last mentioned is one of our 
inner mysteries. It is not a thing to be reasoned 
about, but to be felt, — to be born within one ; and 
I uphold it to be a generous sentiment, and good for 
the human heart.” 

""Forgive me, sir,” said Eedclyfife, ""but I would 
rather be the poorest and lowest man in America 
than have that sentiment.” 

"" But it might change your feeliug, perhaps,” sug- 
gested the Warden, ""if you were one of the privi- 
leged class.” 

"" I dare not say that it would not,” said EedclyfFe, 
"" for I know I have a thousand weaknesses, and have 
doubtless as many more that I never suspected my- 
self of. But it seems to me at this moment impossi- 
ble that I should ever have such an ambition, because 
I have a sense of meanness in not starting fair, in 
beginning the world with advantages that my fellows 
have not.” 

"" Eeally this is not wise,” said the Warden, bluntly, 
"" How can the start in life be fair for all ? Provi- 
dence arranges it otherwise. Did you yourself, — a 
gentleman evidently by birth and education, — did 
you start fair in the race of life ? ” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 201 


Eedcly ffe remembered what his birth, or rather what 
his first recollected place had been, and reddened. 

In birth, certainly, I had no advantages,’' said he, 
and would have explained further but was kept back 
by invincible reluctance ; feeling that the bare fact 
of his origin in an almshouse would be accepted, while 
all the inward assurances and imaginations that had 
reconciled himself to the ugly fact would go for noth- 
ing. But there were advantages, very early in life,” 
added he, smiling, which perhaps I ought to have 
been ashamed to avail myself of” 

‘^An old cobwebby library, — an old dwelling by a 
graveyard, — an old Doctor, busied with his own fan- 
tasies, and entangled in his own cobwebs, — and a 
little girl for a playmate : these were things that you 
might lawfully avail yourself of,” said Colcord, un- 
heard by the Warden, who, thinking the conversation 
had lasted long enough, had paid a slight passing 
courtesy to the old man, and was now leaving the 
room. Do you remain here long ? ” he added. 

‘'If the Warden’s hospitality holds out,” said the 
American, " I shall be glad ; for the place interests 
me greatly.” 

"No wonder,” replied Colcord. 

" And wherefore no wonder ? ” said Eedclyffe, im- 
pressed with the idea that there was something pecu- 
liar in the tone of the old man’s remark. 

" Because,” returned the other quietly, " it must be 
to you especially interesting to see an institution of 
this kind, whereby one man’s benevolence or peni- 


202 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

tence is made to take the substance and durability 
of stone, and last for centuries ; whereas, in America, 
the solemn decrees and resolutions of millions melt 
away like vapor, and everything shifts like the pomp 
of sunset clouds ; though it may be as pompous as 
tliey. Heaven intended the past as a foundation for 
the present, to keep it from vibrating and being blown 
away with every breeze.” 

''But,” said Eedclyffe, "I would not see in my 
country what I see elsewhere, — the Past hanging 
like a mill-stone round a country’s neck, or encrusted 
in stony layers over the living form ; so that, to all 
intents and purposes, it is dead.” . 

"Well,” said Colcord, "we are only talking of the 
Hospital. You will nnd no more interesting place 
anywhere. Stay amongst us ; this is the very heart 
of England, and if you wish to know the fatherland, 
— the place whence you sprung, — this is the very 
spot 1 ” 

Again Eedclyffe was struck with the impression 
that there was something marked, something individ- 
ually addressed to himself, in the old man’s words ; 
at any rate, it appealed to that primal imaginative 
vein in him which had so often, in his own country, 
allowed itself to dream over the possibilities of his 
birth. He knew that the feeling was a vague and 
idle one ; but yet, just at this time, a convalescent, 
with a little play moment in what had heretofore 
been a turbulent life, he felt an inclination to follow 
out this dream, and let it sport with him, and by and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 203 


by to awake to realities, refreshed by a season of un- 
reality. At a firmer and stronger period of his life, 
though Eedclyffe might have indulged his imagi- 
nation with these dreams, yet he would not have let 
them interfere with his course of action ; but hav- 
ing come hither in utter weariness of active life, it 
seemed just the thing for him to do, — just the fool's 
paradise for him to be in. 

Yes," repeated the old man, looking keenly in his 
face, “ you will not leave us yet." 

Eedclyffe returned through the quadrangle to the 
Warden's house ; and there were the brethren, sitting 
on benches, loitering in the sun, which, though warm 
for England, seemed scarcely enough to keep these old 
people warm, even with their cloth robes. They did 
not seem unhappy ; nor yet happy ; if they were so, 
it must be with the mere bliss of existence, a sleepy 
sense of comfort, and quiet dreaminess about things 
past, leaving out the things to come, — of which there 
was nothing, indeed, in their future, save one day 
after another, just like this, with loaf and ale, and 
such substantial comforts, and prayers, and idle days 
again, gathering by the great kitchen fire, and at last 
a day when they should not be there, but some other 
old men in their stead. And Eedclyffe wondered 
whether, in the extremity of age, he himself would 
like to be one of the brethren of the Leopard’s Head. 
The old men, he was sorry to see, did not seem very 
genial towards one another; in fact, there appeared 
to be a secret enjoyment of one another’s infirmities. 


204 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE*S SECRET. 


wherefore it was hard to tell, nnless that each individ- 
ual might fancy himself to possess an advantage over 
his fellow, which he mistook for a positive strength ; 
and so there was sometimes a sardonic smile, when, 
on rising from his seat, the rheumatism was a little 
evident in an old fellow’s joints ; or when the palsy 
shook another’s fingers so that he could barely fill his 
pipe ; or when a cough, the gathered spasmodic trou- 
ble of thirty years, fairly convulsed another. Then, 
any two that happened to be sitting near one another 
looked into each other’s cold eyes, and whispered, 
or suggested merely by a look (for they they were 
bright to such perceptions), “ The old fellow will not 
outlast another winter.” 

Methinks it is not good for old men to be much 
together. An old man is a beautiful object in his 
own place, in the midst of a circle of young people, 
going down in various gradations to infancy, and all 
looking up to the patriarch with filial reverence, keep- 
ing him warm by their own burning youth ; giving him 
the freshness of their thought and feeling, with such 
natural influx that it seems as if it grew within his 
heart ; while on them he reacts with an influence that 
sobers, tempers, keeps them down. His wisdom, very 
probably, is of no great account, — he cannot fit to 
any new state of things ; but, nevertheless, it works its 
effect. In such a situation, the old man is kind and 
genial, mellow, more gentle and generous, and wider- 
minded than ever before. But if left to himself, or 
wholly to the society of his contemporaries, the ice 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 205 


gathers about his heart, his hope grows torpid, his 
love — having nothing of his own blood to develop 
it — grows cold; he becomes selfish, w^hen he has 
nothing in the present or the future worth caring 
about in himself ; so that, instead of a beautiful object, 
he is an ugly one, little, mean, and torpid. I suppose 
one chief reason to be, that unless he has his own 
race about him he doubts of anybody’s love, he feels 
himself a stranger in the world, and so becomes un- 
amiable. 

A very few days in the Warden’s hospitable man- 
sion produced an excellent effect on Eedclyffe’s frame ; 
his constitution being naturally excellent, and a flow 
of cheerful spirits contributing much to restore him 
to health, especially as the abode in this old place, 
which would probably have been intolerably dull to 
most young Englishmen, had for this young American 
a charm like the freshness of Paradise. In truth it 
had that charm, and besides it another intangible, 
evanescent, perplexing charm, full of an airy enjoy- 
ment, as if he had been here before. What could it 
be ? It could be only the old, very deepest, inherent 
nature, which the Englishman, his progenitor, carried 
over the sea with him, nearly two hundred years be- 
fore, and which had lain buried all that time under 
heaps of new things, new customs, new institutions^ 
new snow’s of winter, new layers of forest leaves, until 
it seemed dead, and was altogether forgotten as if it 
had never been ; but, now, his return had seemed to 
dissolve or dig away all this incrustation, and the old 


206 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


English nature awoke all fresh, so that he saw the 
green grass, the hedgerows, the old structures and 
old manners, the old clouds, the old raindrops, with 
a recognition, and yet a newness. Eedclyffe had 
never been so quietly happy as now. He had, as it 
were, the quietude of the old man about him, and the 
freshness of his own still youthful years. 

The Warden was evidently very favorably im- 
pressed with his Transatlantic guest, and he seemed 
to be in a constant state of surprise to find an Ameri- 
can so agreeable a kind of person. 

You are just like an Englishman,” he sometimes 
said. Are you quite sure that you were not born 
on this side of the water ? ” 

This is said to be the highest compliment that an 
Englishman can pay to an American ; and doubtless 
he intends it as such. All the praise and good will 
that an Englishman ever awards to an American is 
so far gratifying to the recipient, that it is meant for 
him individually, and is not to be put down in the 
slightest degree to the score of any regard to his 
countrymen generally. So far from this, if an Eng- 
lishman were to meet the whole thirty millions of 
Americans, and find each individual of them a pleas- 
ant, amiable, well-meaning, and well-mannered sort 
of fellow, he would acknowledge this honestly in each 
individual case, but still would speak of the whole 
nation as a disagreeable people. 

As regards Eedclyffe being precisely like an Eng- 
lishman, we cannot but think that the good Warden 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 207 


was mistaken. No doubt, there was a common ground ; 
the old progenitor (whose blood, moreover, was mixed 
with a hundred other streams equally English) was 
still there, under this young man’s shape, but with a 
vast difference. Climate, sun, cold, heat, soil, institu- 
tions, had made a change in him before he was born, 
and all the life that he had lived since (so unlike any 
that he could have lived in England) had developed 
it more strikingly. In manners, I cannot but think 
that he was better than the generality of Englishmen, 
and different from the highest-mannered men, though 
most resembling them. His natural sensitiveness, a 
tincture of reserve, had been counteracted by the 
frank mixture with men which his political course 
had made necessary ; he was quicker to feel what was 
right at the moment, than the Englishman ; more 
alive ; he had a finer grain ; his look was more aristo- 
cratic than that of a thousand Englishmen of good 
birth and breeding ; he had a faculty of assimilating 
himself to new manners, which, being his most un- 
English trait, was what perhaps chiefly made the 
Warden think him so like an Englishman. When an 
Englishman is a gentleman, to be sure, it is as deep in 
him as the marrow of his bones, and the deeper you 
know him, the more you are aware of it, and that 
generation after generation has contributed to develop 
and perfect these unpretending manners, which, at 
first, may have failed to impress you, under his plain, 
almost homely exterior. An American often gets as 
good a surface of manners, in his own progress from 


208 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


youth, through the wear and attrition of a successful 
life, to some high station in middle age ; whereas a 
plebeian Englishman, who rises to eminent station, 
never does credit to it by his manners. Often you 
would not know the American ambassador from a 
duke. This is often ,merely external ; but in Eed- 
clyffe, having delicate original traits in his character, 
it was something more ; and, we are bold to say, 
when our countrymen are developed, or any one class 
of them, as they ought to be, they will show finer 
traits than have yet been seen. We have more deli- 
cate and quicker sensibilities ; nerves more easily im- 
pressed; and these are surely requisites for perfect 
manners; and, moreover, the courtesy that proceeds 
on the ground of perfect equality is better than that 
which is a gracious and benignant condescension, — 
as is the case with the manners of the aristocracy of 
England. 

An American, be it said, seldom turns his best 
side outermost abroad ; and an observer, who has had 
much opportunity of seeing the figure which they 
make, in a foreign country, does not so much wonder 
that there should be severe criticism on their man- 
ners as a people. I know not exactly why, but 
all our imputed peculiarities — our nasal pronuncia- 
tion, our ungraceful idioms, our forthputtingness, 
our uncouth lack of courtesy — do really seem to 
exist on a foreign shore ; and even, perhaps, to be 
heightened of malice prepense. The cold, unbeliev- 
ing eye of Englishmen, expectant of solecisms in 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 209 


manners, contributes to produce the result which it 
looks for. Then the feeling of hostility and defiance 
in the American must be allowed for; and partly, 
too, the real existence of a different code of manners, 
founded on, and arising from, different institutions ; 
and also certain national peculiarities, which may 
be intrinsically as good as English peculiarities ; but 
being different, and yet the whole result being just 
too nearly alike, and, moreover, the English manners 
having the prestige of long establishment, and fur- 
thermore our own manners being in a transition 
state between those of old monarchies and what is 
proper to a new republic, — it necessarily followed 
that the American, though really a man of refinement 
and delicacy, is not just the kind of gentleman that the 
English can fully appreciate. In cases where they 
do so, their standard being different from ours, they 
do not always select for their approbation the kind 
of man or manners whom we should judge the best; 
we are perhaps apt to be a little too fine, a little too 
sedulously polished, and of course too conscious of 
it, — a deadly social crime, certainly. 


14 


210 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

To return from this long discussion, the Warden 
took kindly, as we have said, to Redclyffe, and 
thought him a miraculously good fellow, to have 
come from the rude American republic. Hitherto, 
in the little time that he had been in England, Red- 
clyffe had received civil and even kind treatment 
from the English with whom he had come casually 
in contact ; but still — perhaps partly from our Yan- 
kee narrowness and reserve — he had felt, in the 
closest coming together, as if there were a naked 
sword between the Englishman and him, as between 
the Arabian prince in the tale and the princess 
whom he wedded; he felt as if that would be the 
case even if he should love an Englishwoman ; to 
such a distance, into such an attitude of self-defence, 
does English self-complacency and belief in Eng- 
land’s superiority throw the stranger. In fact, in a 
good-natured way, John Bull is always doubling 
his fist in a stranger’s face, and though it be good- 
natured, it does not always produce the most ami- 
able feeling. 

The worthy Warden, being an Englishman, had 
doubtless the same kind of feeling; doubtless, too, 
he thought ours a poor, distracted country, perhaps 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 211 


prosperous for the moment, but as likely as not to 
he the scene of anarchy five minutes hence; but 
being of so genial a nature, when he came to see 
the amiableness of his young guest, and how deeply 
he was impressed with England, all prejudice died 
away, and he loved him like a treasure that he had 
found for himself, and valued him as if there were 
something of his own in him. And so the old War- 
den's residence had never before been so cheery as 
it was now ; his bachelor life passed the more pleas- 
antly with this quiet, vivacious, yet not trouble- 
somely restless spirit beside him, — this eager, almost 
childish interest in everything English, and yet this 
capacity to take independent views of things, and 
sometimes, it might be, to throw a gleam of light 
even on things appertaining to England. And so, 
the better they came to know one another, the greater 
was their mutual liking. 

'‘I fear I am getting too strong to burden you 
much longer," said Eedclylfe, this morning. I have 
no pretence to be a patient now." 

‘"Pooh! nonsense!" ejaculated the Warden. “It 
will not be safe to leave you to yourself for at least 
a month to come. And I have half a dozen excur- 
sions in a neighborhood of twenty miles, in which I 
mean to show you what old England is, in a way 
that you would never find out for yourself. Do not 
speak of going. This day, if you find yourself strong 
enough, you shall go and look at an old village 
church." 


212 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


With all my heart,” said Eedclyffe. 

They went, accordingly, walking slowly, in con- 
sequence of Eedclyffe’s yet imperfect strength, along 
the highroad, which was overshadowed with elms, 
that grew in beautiful shape and luxuriance in that 
part of England, not with the slender, drooping, pic- 
turesque grace of a New England elm, but more lux- 
uriant, fuller of leaves, sturdier in limb. It was a 
day which the Warden called fine, and which Eed- 
clyffe, at home, would have thought to bode rain; 
though here he had learned that such weather might 
continue for weeks together, with only a few rain- 
drops all the time. The road was in the finest con- 
dition, hard and dry. 

They had not long emerged from the gateway of 
the Hospital, — at the venerable front and gables of 
which Eedclyffe turned to look with a feeling as if it 
were his home, — when they<heard the clatter of hoofs 
behind them, and a gentleman on horseback rode by, 
paying a courteous salute to the Warden as he passed. 
A groom in livery followed at a little distance, and 
both rode roundly towards the village, whither the 
Warden and his friend were going. 

^'Did you observe that man?” asked the Warden. 

Yes,” said Eedclyffe. Is he an Englishman ? ” 

^'That is a pertinent question,” replied the War- 
den, but I scarcely know how to answer it.” 

In truth, Eedclyffe’s question had been suggested 
by the appearance of the mounted gentleman, who 
was a dark, thin man, with black hair, and a black 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 213 


moustache and pointed beard setting off his sallow- 
face, in which the eyes had a certain pointed steeli- 
ness, which did not look English, — whose eyes, me- 
thinks, are usually not so hard as those of Americans 
or foreigners. Eedclyffe, somehow or other, had fan- 
cied that these not very pleasant eyes had been fixed 
in a marked way on himself, a stranger, while at the 
same time his salute was evidently directed towards 
the Warden. 

''An Englishman, — why, no,” continued the latter. 
" If you observe, he does not even sit his horse like 
an Englishman, but in that absurd, stiff continental 
way, as if a poker should get on horseback. If either 
has he an English face, English manners, nor Eng- 
lish religion, nor an English heart ; nor, to sum up 
the whole, had he English birth. Nevertheless, as 
fate would have it, he is the inheritor of a good old 
English name, a fine patrimonial estate, and a very 
probable claim to an old English title. This is Lord 
Braithwaite of Braithwaite Hall, who if he can make 
his case good (and they say there is good prospect of 
it) will soon be Lord Hinchbrooke.” 

" I hardl}^ know why, but I should be sorry for it,” 
said Eedclyffe. "He certainly is not English; and 
I have an odd sort of sympathy, which makes me 
unwilling that English honors should be enjoyed by 
foreigners. This, then, is the gentleman of Italian 
birth whom you have mentioned to me, and of whom 
there is a slight mention in the County History.” 

" Yes,” said the Warden. " There have been^hree 


214 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


descents of this man's branch in Italy, and only one 
English mother in all that time. Positively, I do not 
see an English trait in his face, and as little in his 
manner. His civility is Italian, such as oftentimes, 
among his countrymen, has offered a cup of poison to 
a guest, or insinuated the stab of a stiletto into his 
heart." 

“You are particularly bitter against this poor 
man," said Eedclyffe, laughing at the Warden's vehe- 
mence. “His appearance — and yet he is a handsome 
man — is certainly not prepossessing; but unless it 
be countersigned by something in his actual life, I 
should hardly think it worth while to condemn him 
utterly." 

“ Well, well ; you can forgive a little English preju- 
dice," said the Warden, a little ashamed. “ But, in 
good earnest, the man has few or no good traits, tabes 
no interest in the country, dislikes our sky, our earth, 
our people, is close and inhospitable, a hard landlord, 
and whatever may be his good qualities, they are not 
such as flourish in this soil and climate, or can be 
appreciated here." ^ 

“ Has he children ? " asked Eedclyffe. 

“ They say so, — a family by an Italian wife, whom 
some, on the other hand, pronounce to be no wife at 
all. His son is at a Catholic college in France ; his 
daughter in a convent there." 

In talk like this they were drawing near the 
little rustic village of Braithwaite, and saw, above a 
cloud of foliage, the small, low, battlemented tower. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHA WKS SECRET. 215 


the gray stones of which had probably been laid a 
little after the hTorman conquest. Approaching near- 
er, they passed a thatched cottage or two, very plain 
and simple edifices, though interesting to Eedclyffe 
from their antique aspect, which denoted that they 
were probably older than the settlement of his own 
country, and might very likely have nursed children 
who had gone, more than two centuries ago, to found 
the commonwealth of which he was a citizen. If you 
considered them in one way, prosaically, they were 
ugly enough; but then there were the old latticed 
windows, and there the thatch, which was verdant 
with leek, and strange weeds, possessing a whole bo- 
tanical grow^th. And birds flew in and out, as if they 
had their homes there. Then came a row of similar 
cottages, all joined on together, and each with a little 
garden before it divided from its neighbors by a hedge, 
now in full verdure. Eedclyffe was glad to see some 
symptoms of natural love of beauty here, for there 
w^ere plants of box, cut into queer shapes of birds, 
peacocks, etc., as if year after year had been spent in 
bringing these vegetable sculptures to perfection. In 
one of the gardens, moreover, the ingenious inhabitant 
had spent his leisure in building grotto-work, of which 
the English are rather ludicrously fond, on their little 
bits of lawn, and in building a miniature castle of 
oyster-shells, where w^ere seen turrets, ramparts, a 
frowning arched gateway, and miniature cannon look- 
ing from the embrasures. A pleasanter and better 
adornment were the homely household flowers, and a 


216 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


pleasant sound, too, was the hum of bees, who had 
their home in several beehives, and were making their 
honey among the flowers of the garden, or come from 
afar, buzzing dreamily through the air, laden with 
honey that they had found elsewhere. Fruit trees 
stood erect, or, in some instances, were flattened 
out against the walls of cottages, looking somewhat 
like hawks nailed in terrorem against a barn door. 
The male members of this little community were 
probably afield, with the exception of one or two 
half-torpid great-grandsires, who [were] moving rheu- 
matically about the gardens, and some children not 
yet in breeches, who stared with stolid eyes at the 
passers-by; but the good dames were busy within 
doors, where EedclySe had glimpses of their inte- 
rior with its pavement of stone flags. Altogether 
it seemed a comfortable settlement enough. 

"‘Do you see that child yonder,” observed the 
Warden, “ creeping away from the door, and dis- 
playing a vista of his petticoats as he does so ? 
That sturdy boy is the lineal heir of one of the 
oldest families in this part of England, — though 
now decayed and fallen, as you may judge. So, 
you see, with all our contrivances to keep up an 
aristocracy, there still is change forever going on.” 

“ There is something not agreeable, and something 
otherwise, in the thought,” replied Eedclyfle. “ What 
is the name of the old family, whose representative is 
in such a case ? ” 

“ Moseby,” said the Warden. “ Their family resi- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 217 

dence stood within three miles of Braithwaite Hall, 
but was taken down in the last century, and its place 
supplied by a grand show-place, built by a Birming- 
ham manufacturer, who also originated here.” 

They kept onward from this outskirt of the village, 
and soon, passing over a little rising ground, and de- 
scending now into a hollow came to the new portion 
of it, clustered around its gray Horman church, one 
side of the tower of which was covered with ivy, that 
was carefully kept, the Warden said, from climbing 
to the battlements, on account of some old prophecy 
that foretold that the tower would fall, if ever the ivy 
mantled over its top. Certainly, however, there 
seemed little likelihood that the square, low mass 
would fall, unless by external violence, in less than 
as many ages as it had already stood. 

Eedclyffe looked at the old tower and little ad- 
joining edifice with an interest that attached itself 
to every separate, moss-grown stone; but the War- 
den, like most Englishmen, was at once amazed and 
wearied with the American’s enthusiasm for this spot, 
which to him was uninteresting for the very reason 
that made it most interesting to Eedclyffe, because it 
had stood there such a weary while. It was too com- 
mon an object to excite in his mind, as it did in 
Eedclyffe’s, visions of the long ago time when it was 
founded, when mass was first said there, and the 
glimmer of torches at the altar was seen through the 
vista of that broad-browed porch ; and of all the pro- 
cession of villagers that had since gone in and come 


218 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


out during nine hundred years, in their varying cos- 
tume and fashion, but yet — and this was the strong- 
est and most thrilling part of the idea — all, the very 
oldest of them, bearing a resemblance of feature, the 
kindred, the family likeness, to those who died yes- 
terday, — to those who still went thither to worship ; 
and that all the grassy and half-obliterated graves 
around had held those who bore the same traits. 

In front of the church was a little green, on which 
stood a very ancient yew tree,^ all the heart of which 
seemed to have been eaten away by time, so that a 
man could now creep into the trunk, through a wide 
opening, and, looking upward, see another opening to 
the sky. 

“That tree,” observed the Warden, “is well worth 
the notice of such an enthusiastic lover of old things ; 
though I suppose aged trees may be the one antiquity 
that you do not value, having them by myriads in 
your primeval forests. But then the interest of this 
tree consists greatly in what your trees have not, — 
in its long connection with men and the doings of 
men. Some of its companions were made into bows 
for Harold’s archers. This tree is of unreckonable 
antiquity ; so old, that in a record of the time of 
Edward IV. it is styled the yew tree of Braith- 
waite Green. That carries it back to Norman times, 
truly. It was in comparatively modern times when 
it served as a gallows for one of James II. ’s blood- 
thirsty judges to hang his victims on after Mon- 
mouth’s rebellion.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 219 


On one side of this yew was a certain structure 
which Eedclyfife did not recognize as anything that 
he had before seen, but soon guessed its purpose; 
though, from appearances, it seemed to have been 
very long since it had served that purpose. It was a 
ponderous old oaken framework, six or seven feet 
high, so contrived that a heavy cross-piece shut down 
over another, leaving two round holes; in short, it 
was a pair of stocks, in which, I suppose, himdreds 
of vagrants and petty criminals had sat of old, but 
which now appeared to be merely a matter of 
curiosity. 

^‘This excellent old machine,” said the Warden, 
had been lying in a rubbish chamber of the church 
tower for at least a century ; when the clerk, who is 
a little of an antiquarian, unearthed it, and I advised 
him to set it here, where it used to stand; — not 
with any idea of its being used (though there is as 
much need of it now as ever), but that the present 
age may see what comforts it has lost.” 

They sat down a few moments on the circular seat, 
and looked at the pretty scene of this quiet little vil- 
lage, clustered round the old church as a centre ; a 
collection of houses, mostly thatched, though there 
were one or two, with rather more pretension, that 
had roofs of red tiles. Some of them were stone cot- 
tages, whitewashed, but the larger edifices had timber 
frames, filled in with brick and plaster, which seemed 
to have been renewed in patches, and to be a frailer 
and less durable material than the old oak of their 


220 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


skeletons. They were gabled, with lattice windows, 
and picturesquely set off with projecting stones, and 
many little patchwork additions, such as, in the 
course of generations, the inhabitants had found 
themselves to need. There was not much commerce, 
apparently, in this little village, there seeming to be 
only one shop, with some gingerbread, penny whistles, 
ballads, and such matters, displayed in the window ; 
and there, too, across the little green, opposite the 
church, was the village alehouse, with its bench 
under the low projecting eaves, with a Teniers scene 
of two wayfaring yeomen drinking a pot of beer and 
smoking their pipes. 

With Eedclyffe’s Yankee feelings, there was some- 
thing sad to think how the generations had succeeded 
one another, over and over, in innumerable succes- 
sion, in this little spot, being born here, living, dying, 
lying down among their fathers’ dust, and forthwith 
getting up again, as it were, and recommencing the 
same meaningless round, and really bringing nothing 
to pass ; for probably the generation of to-day, in so 
secluded and motionless a place as this, had few or 
no ideas in advance of their ancestors of five centuries 
ago. It seems not worth while that more than one 
generation of them should have existed. Even in 
dress, with their smock frocks and breeches, they 
were just like their fathers. The stirring blood of the 
new land, — where no man dwells in his father’s house, 

— where no man thinks of dying in his birthplace, 

— awoke within him, and revolted at the thought; 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 221 


and, as connected with it, revolted at all the heredi- 
tary pretensions which, since his stay here, had exer- 
cised such an influence over the fanciful part of his 
nature. In another mood, the village might have 
seemed a picture of rural peace, which it would have 
been worth while to give up ambition to enjoy ; now, 
as his warmer impulse stirred, it was a weariness to 
think of. The new American was stronger in him 
than the hereditary Englishman. 

I should go mad of it ! ” exclaimed he aloud. 

He started up impulsively, to the amazement of 
his companion, who of course could not comprehend 
what seemed so to have stung his American friend. 
As they passed the tree, on the other side of its huge 
trunk, they saw a young woman, sitting on that side 
of it, and sketching, apparently, the church tower, 
with the old Elizabethan vicarage that stood near it, 
with a gate opening into the churchyard, and much 
embowered and ivy-hung. 

“Ah, Miss Cheltenham,'’ said the Warden. “I am 
glad to see that you have taken the old church in 
hand, for it is one of the prettiest rustic churches in 
England, and as well worthy as any to be engraved 
on * a sheet of note-paper or put into a portfolio. 
Will you let my friend and me see your sketch ? ” 

The Warden had made his request with rather 
more freedom than perhaps he would to a lady whom 
he considered on a level with himself, though with 
perfect respect, that being considered ; and Eedclyffe, 
looking at the person, saw that it was the same of 


222 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

whose face he had had a glimpse in the looking-glass, 
in the old palmer's chamber. 

"'No, Doctor Hammond," said the young lady, with 
a respectful sort of frankness, "" you must excuse me. 
I am no good artist, and am but jotting down the old 
church because I like it." 

"" Well, well, as you please," said the Warden ; and 
whispered aside to Eedclyffe, "" A girl's sketchbook is 
seldom worth looking at. But now, Miss Chelten- 
ham, I am about to give my American friend here a 
lecture on gargoyles, and other peculiarities of sacred 
Gothic architecture ; and if you will honor me with 
your attention, I should be glad to find my audience 
increased by one." 

So the young lady arose, and Eedclyffe, consider- 
ing the Warden’s allusion to him as a sort of partial 
introduction, bowed to her, and she responded with a 
cold, reserved, yet not unpleasant sort of courtesy. 
They went towards the church porch, and, looking 
in at the old stone bench on each side of the interior, 
the Warden showed them the hacks of the swords of 
the Eoundheads, when they took it by storm. Eed- 
clyffe, mindful of the old graveyard on the edge of 
which he had spent his childhood, began to look at 
this far more antique receptacle, expecting to find 
there many ancient tombstones, perhaps of contem- 
poraries or predecessors of the founders of his coun- 
try. In this, however, he was disappointed, at least 
in a great measure; for the persons buried in the 
churchyard were probably, for the most part, of a 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 223 


humble rank in life, such as were not so ambitious as 
to desire a monument of any kind, but were content 
to let their low earth-mounds subside into the level, 
where their memory had waxed so faint that none 
among the survivors could point out the spot, or 
cared any longer about knowing it; while in other 
cases, where a monument of red freestone, or even of 
hewn granite, had been erected, the English climate 
had forthwith set to work to gnaw away the inscrip- 
tions; so that in fifty years — in a time that would 
have left an American tombstone as fresh as if just 
cut — it was quite impossible to make out the record. 
Their superiors, meanwhile, were sleeping less envi- 
ably in dismal mouldy and dusty vaults, instead of 
under the daisies. Thus Eedclyffe really found less 
antiquity here, than in the graveyard which might 
almost be called his natal spot. 

When he said something to this effect, the Warden 
nodded. 

‘‘Yes,’’ said he, “and, in truth, we have not much 
need of inscriptions for these poor people. All good 
families — every one almost, with any pretensions to 
respectable station, has his family or individual recog- 
nition within the church, or upon its walls ; or some 
of them you see on tombs on the outside. As for 
our poorer friends here, they are content, as they may 
well be, to swell and subside, like little billows of 
mortality, here on the outside.” 

“ And for my part,” said Eedclyffe, “ if there were 
anything particularly desirable on either side, I 


224 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


should like best to sleep under this lovely green turf, 
with the daisies strewn over me by Nature herself, 
and whatever other homely flowers any friend might 
choose to add.” 

And, Doctor Hammond,” said the young woman, 
“ we see by this gravestone that sometimes a person 
of humble rank may happen to be commemorated, 
and that Nature — in this instance at least — seems 
to take especial pains and pleasure to preserve the 
record.” 

She indicated a flat gravestone, near the porch, 
which time had indeed beautified in a singular way, 
for there was cut deep into it a name and date, in 
old English characters, very deep it must originally 
have been; and as if in despair of obliterating it, 
Time had taken the kindlier method of filling up the 
letters with moss; so that now, high embossed in 
loveliest green, was seen the name "Eichard Ogle- 
thorpe 1613”; — green, and flourishing, and beauti- 
ful, like the memory of a good man. The inscription 
originally seemed to have contained some twenty 
lines, which might have been poetry, or perhaps a 
prose eulogy, or perhaps the simple record of the 
buried person's life ; but all this, having been done 
in fainter and smaller letters, was now so far worn 
away as to be illegible ; nor had they ever been deep 
enough to be made living in moss, like the rest of 
the inscription. 

“How tantalizing,” remarked Eedclyffe, “to see 
the verdant shine of this name, impressed upon us as 


DOCTOB GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 225 


something remarkable — and nothing else. I cannot 
but think that there must be something worth re- 
membering about a man thus distinguished. When 
two hundred years have taken all these natural pains 
to illustrate and emblazon 'Eichard Oglethorpe 1613.’ 
Ha! I surely recollect that name. It haunts me 
somehow, as if it had been familiar of old.” 

And me,” said the young lady. 

‘'It was an old name, hereabouts,” observed the 
Warden, "but has been long extinct, — a cottage 
name, not a gentleman’s. I doubt not that Ogle- 
thorpes sleep in many of these undistinguished 
graves.” 

Eedclyffe did not much attend to what his friend 
said, his attention being attracted to the tone — to 
something in the tone of the young lady, and also to 
her coincidence in his remark that the name appealed 
to some early recollection. He had been taxing his 
memory, to tell him when and how the name had 
become familiar to him ; and he now remembered 
that it had occurred in the old Doctor’s story of the 
Bloody Footstep, told to him and Elsie, so long ago.^ 
To him and Elsie ! It struck him — what if it were 
possible ? — but he knew it was not — that the young 
lady had a remembrance also of tlie fact, and that 
she, after so many years, were mingling her thoughts 
with his. As this fancy recurred to him, he endeav- 
ored to get a glimpse of her face, and while he did so 
she turned it upon him. It was a quick, sensitive 
face, that did not seem altogether English ; he would 
15 


226 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


rather have imagined it American ; but at all events 
he could not recognize it as one that he had seen 
before, and a thousand fantasies died within him as, 
in his momentary glance, he took in the volume of 
its contour. 


DOCTOR GRIMSEAWRS SECRET. 227 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

After the two friends had parted from the young 
lady, they passed through the village, and entered the 
park gate of Braithwaite Hall, pursuing a winding 
road through its beautiful scenery, which realized all 
that Eedclyffe had read or dreamed about the perfect 
beauty of these sylvan creations, with the clumps of 
trees, or sylvan oaks, picturesquely disposed. To 
heighten the charm, they saw a herd of deer reposing, 
who, on their appearance, rose from their recumbent 
position, and began to gaze warily at the strangers ; 
then, tossing their horns, they set off on a stampede, 
but only swept round, and settled down not far from 
where they were. Eedclyffe looked with great inter- 
est at these deer, who were at once wild and civil- 
ized ; retaining a kind of free forest citizenship, while 
yet they were in some sense subject to man. It 
seemed as if they were a link between wild nature 
and tame ; as if they could look back, in their long 
recollections, through a vista, into the times when 
England’s forests were as wild as those of America, 
though now they were but a degree more removed 
from domesticity than cattle, and took their food in 
winter from the hand of man, and in summer reposed 
upon his lawns. This seemed the last touch of that 


228 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


delightful conquered and regulated wildness, which 
English art has laid upon the whole growth of Eng- 
lish nature, animal or vegetable. 

‘'There is nothing really wuld in your whole is- 
land,” he observed to the Warden. “I have a sen- 
sation as if somebody knew, and had cultivated and 
fostered, and set out in its proper place, every tree 
that grows ; as if somebody had patted the heads of 
your wildest animals and played with them. It is 
very delightful to me, for the present; and yet, I 
think, in the course of time, I should feel the need for 
something genuine, as it were, — something that had 
not the touch and breath of man upon it. I suppose 
even your skies are modified by the modes of human 
life that are going on beneath it. London skies, of 
course, are so ; but the breath of a great people, to 
say nothing of its furnace vapors and hearth- smokes, 
make the sky other than it was a thousand years 
ago.” 

“ I believe we English have a feeling like this oc- 
casionally,” replied the Warden, “and it is from that, 
partly, that we must account for our adventurousness 
into other regions, especially for our interest in what 
is wild and new. In your own forests, now, and 
prairies, I fancy we find a charm that Americans do 
not. In the sea, too, and therefore we are yachters. 
For my part, however, I have grown to like Nature 
a little smoothed down, and enriched ; less gaunt and 
wolfish than she would be if left to herself.” 

“ Yes ; I feel that charm too,” said Eedclyfife. 


DOCTOR GBIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 229 


"But yet life would be slow and heavy, methinks, 
to see nothing but English parks/' 

Continuing their course through the noble clumps 
of oaks, they by and by had a vista of the distant 
hall itself. It was one of the old English timber and 
plaster houses, many of which are of unknown anti- 
quity ; as was the case with a portion of this house, 
although other portions had been renewed, repaired, 
or added, within a century. It had, originally, the 
Warden said, stood all round an enclosed courtyard, 
like the great houses of the Continent ; but now one 
side of the quadrangle had long been removed, and 
there was only a front, with two wings ; the beams of 
old oak being picked out with black, and three or 
four gables in a line forming the front, while the 
wings seemed to be stone. It was the timber portion 
that was most ancient. A clock was on the midmost 
gable, and pointed now towards one o'clock. The 
whole scene impressed Eedclyffe, not as striking, but 
as an abode of ancient peace, where generation after 
generation of the same family had lived, each making 
the most of life, because the life of each successive 
dweller there was eked out with the lives of all who 
had hitherto lived there, and had in it equally those 
lives which were to come afterwards ; so that there 
was a rare and successful contrivance for giving 
length, fulness, body, substance, to this thin and 
frail matter of human life. And, as life was so rich 
in comprehensiveness, the dwellers there made the 
most of it for the present and future, each generation 


230 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


contriving what it could to add to the cosiness, the 
comfortableness, the grave, solid respectability, the 
sylvan beauty, of the house with which they seemed 
to be connected both before and after death. The 
family had its home there ; not merely the individual. 
Ancient shapes, that had apparently gone to the 
family tomb, had yet a right by family hearth and in 
family hall ; nor did they come thither cold and 
shivering, and diffusing dim ghostly terrors, and re- 
pulsive shrinkings, and death in life ; but in warm, 
genial attributes, making this life now passing more 
dense as it were, by adding all the substance of their 
own to it. Eedclyffe could not compare this abode, 
and the feelings that it aroused, to the houses of his 
own country ; poor tents of a day, inns of a night, 
where nothing was certain, save that the family of 
him who built it would not dwell here, even if he 
himself should have the bliss to die under the roof, 
which, with absurdest anticipations, he had built for 
his posterity. Posterity! An American can have 
none. 

" All this sort of thing is beautiful ; the family in- 
stitution was beautiful in its day,” ejaculated he, 
aloud, to himself, not to his companion ; but it is a 
thing of the past. It is dying out in England ; and 
as for ourselves, we never had it. Something better 
will come up; but as for this, it is past.” 

That is a sad thing to say,” observed the Warden, 
by no means comprehending what was passing in his 
friend’s mind. " But if you wish to view the interior 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 231 


of the Hall, we will go thither ; for, harshly as I have 
spoken of the owner, I suppose he has English feeling 
enough to give us lunch and show us the old house 
of his forefathers/' 

Hot at present, if you please,” replied Eedclyffe. 
“I am afraid of destroying my delightful visionary 
idea of the house by coming too near it. Before I 
leave this part of the country, I should be glad to 
ramble over the whole of it, but not just now.” 

While Eedclyffe was still enjoying the frank hos- 
pitality of his new friend, a rather marked event 
occurred in his life ; yet not so important in reality 
as it seemed to his English friend. 

A large letter was delivered to him, bearing the 
official seal of the United States, and the indorse- 
ment of the State Department; a very important- 
looking document, which could not but add to the 
importance of the recipient in the eyes of any Eng- 
lishman, accustomed as they are to bow down before 
any seal of government. Eedclyffe opened it rather 
coolly, being rather loath to renew any of his political 
remembrances, now that he was in peace ; or to think 
of the turmoil of modern and democratic politics, here 
in this quietude of gone-by ages and customs. The 
contents, however, took him by surprise ; nor did he 
know whether to be pleased or not. 

The official package, in short, contained an an- 
nouncement that he had been appointed by the Pres- 
ident, by and with the advice of the Senate, to one of 
the Continental missions, usually esteemed an object 


232 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


of considerable ambition to any young man in poli- 
tics ; so that, if consistent with his own pleasure, he 
was now one of the Diplomatic Corps, a Minister, 
and representative of his country. On first consid- 
ering the matter, Eedclyffe was inclined to doubt 
whether this honor had been obtained for him al- 
together by friendly aid, though it did happen to 
have much in it that might suit his half-formed pur- 
pose of remaining long abroad; but with an eye 
already rendered somewhat oblique by political prac- 
tice, he suspected that a political rival — a rival, 
though of his own party — had been exerting himself 
to provide an inducement for Eedclyffe to leave the 
local field to him; while he himself should take 
advantage of the vacant field, and his rival be 
thus insidiously, though honorably, laid on the shelf, 
whence if he should try to remove himself a few 
years hence the shifting influences of American poli- 
tics would be likely enough to thwart him ; so that^ 
for the sake of being a few years nominally some- 
body, he might in fine come back to his own country 
and find himself permanently nobody. But Eedclyffe 
had already sufficiently begun to suspect that he 
lacked some qualities that a politician ought to have, 
and without which a political life, whether successful 
or otherwise, is sure to be a most irksome one: 
some qualities he lacked, others he had, both almost 
equally an obstacle. When he communicated the 
offer, therefore, to his friend, the Warden, it was with 
the remark that he believed he should accept it. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 233 


“ Accept it ? cried the Warden, opening his eyes. 
" I should think so, indeed ! Why, it puts you above 
the level of the highest nobility of the Court to which 
you are accredited; simple republican as you are, 
it gives you rank with the old blood and birth of 
Europe. Accept it? By all means; and I wiU come 
and see you at your court.” 

Nothing is more different between England and 
America,” said Eedclyffe, than the different way in 
which the citizen of either country looks at official 
station. To an Englishman, a commission, of what- 
ever kind, emanating from his sovereign, brings ap- 
parently a gratifying sense of honor; to an American, 
on the contrary, it offers really nothing of the kind. 
He ceases to be a sovereign, — an atom of sover- 
eignty, at all events, — and stoops to be a servant. 
If I accept this mission, honorable as you think it, 
I assure you I shall not feel myself quite the man I 
have hitherto been ; although there is no obstacle in 
the way of party obligations or connections to my 
taking it, if I please.” 

'‘I do not well understand this,” quoth the good 
Warden. '‘It is one of the promises of Scripture 
to the wise man, that he shall stand before kings, 
and that this embassy will enable you to do. No 
man — no man of your country surely — is more 
worthy to do so; so pray accept.” 

“I think I shall,” said Eedclyffe. 

Much as the Warden had seemed to affectionize 
Eedclyffe hitherto, the latter could not but be sen- 


234 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


sible, thereafter, of a certain deference in his friend 
towards him, which he would fain have got rid of, had 
it been in his power. However, there was still the 
same heartiness under it all; and after a little he 
seemed, in some degree, to take Eedclyffe’s own view 
of the matter ; — namely, that, being so temporary as 
these republican distinctions are, they really do not 
go skin deep, have no reality in them, and that the 
sterling quality of the man, be it higher or lower, is 
nowise altered by it ; — an apothegm that is true even 
of an hereditary nobility, and still more so of our own 
Honorables and Excellencies. However, the good 
Warden was glad of his friend's dignity, and per- 
haps, too, a little glad that this high fortune had 
befallen one whom he chanced to be entertaining 
under his roof. As it happened, there was an oppor- 
tunity which might be taken advantage of to cele- 
brate the occasion ; at least, to make it known to the 
English world so far as the extent of the county.^ 

It was an hereditary custom for the warden of 
Braithwaite Hospital, once a year, to give a grand 
dinner to the nobility and gentry of the neighbor- 
hood ; and to this end a bequest had been made by 
one of the former squires or lords of Braithwaite 
which would of itself suffice to feed forty or fifty 
Englishmen with reasonable sumptuousness. The 
present Warden, being a gentleman of private for- 
tune, was accustomed to eke the limited income, de- 
voted for this purpose, with such additions from his 
own resources as brought the rude and hearty hos- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 235 


pitality contemplated by the first founder on a par 
with modern refinements of gourmandism. The ban- 
quet was annually given in the fine old hall where 
James II. had feasted ; and on some of these occa- 
sions the Warden’s table had been honored with illus- 
trious guests ; especially when any of them happened 
to be wanting an opportunity to come before the 
public in an after-dinner speech. Just at present 
there was no occasion of that sort; and the good 
Warden fancied that he might give considerable Sclat 
to his hereditary feast by bringing forward the young 
American envoy, a distinguished and eloquent man, 
to speak on the well-worn topic of the necessity of 
friendly relations between England and America. 

'' You are eloquent, I doubt not, my young friend ? ” 
inquired he. 

« Why, no,” answered Eedclyffe, modestly. 

""Ah, yes, I know it,” returned the Warden. ""If 
one have all the natural prerequisites of eloquence ; 
a quick sensibility, ready thought, apt expression, a 
good voice — and not making its way into the world 
through your nose either, as they say most of your 
countrymen’s voices do. You shall make the crack 
speech at my dinner; and so strengthen the bonds 
of good fellowship between our two countries, that 
there shall be no question of war for at least six 
months to come.” 

Accordingly, the preparations for this stately ban- 
quet went on with great spirit; and the Warden 
exhorted Eedclyffe to be thinking of some good top- 


236 DOCTOR GBIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


ics for his international speech ; but the young man 
laughed it off, and told his friend that he thought 
the inspiration of the moment, aided by the good old 
wine which the Warden had told him of, as among 
the treasures of the Hospital, would perhaps serve 
him better than any elaborate preparation. 

Eedclyffe, being not even yet strong, used to spend 
much time, when the day chanced to be pleasant, 
(which was oftener than his preconceptions of Eng- 
lish weather led him to expect,) in the garden behind 
the Warden’s house. It was an extensive one, and 
apparently as antique as the foundation of the estab- 
lishment ; and during all these years it had probably 
been growing richer and richer. Here were flowers 
of ancient race, and some that had been merely field 
or wayside flowers when first they came into the gar- 
den ; but by long cultivation and hereditary care, 
instead of dying out, they had acquired a new rich- 
ness and beauty, so that you would scarcely recognize 
the daisy or the violet. Eoses too, there were, which 
Doctor Hammond said had been taken from those 
white and red rose-trees in the Temple Gardens, 
whence the partisans of York and Lancaster had 
plucked their fatal badges. With these, there were 
all the modern and far-fetched flowers from America, 
the East, and elsewhere ; even the prairie flowers and 
the California blossoms were represented here ; for 
one of the brethren had horticultural tastes, and was 
permitted freely to exercise them there. The antique 
character of the garden was preserved, likewise, by 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 237 


the alleys of box, a part of which had been suffered 
to remain, and was now grown to a great height and 
density, so as to make impervious green walls. There 
were also yew trees clipped into strange shapes of 
bird and beast, and uncouth heraldic figures, among 
which of course the leopard's head grinned trium- 
phant; and as for fruit, the high garden wall was 
lined with pear trees, spread out flat against it, where 
they managed to produce a cold, flavorless fruit, a 
good deal akin to cucumbers. 

Here, in these genial old arbors, Eedclyffe used to 
recline in the sweet, mild summer weather, basking 
in the sun, which was seldom too warm to make its 
full embrace uncomfortable ; and it seemed to him, 
with its fertility, with its marks everywhere of the 
quiet long-bestowed care of man, the sweetest and 
cosiest seclusion he had ever known ; and two or 
three times a day, when he heard the screech of the 
railway train, rushing on towards distant London, it 
impressed him still more with a sense of safe repose 
here. 

Not unfrequently he here met the white-bearded 
palmer in whose chamber he had found himself, as if 
conveyed thither by enchantment, when he first came 
to the Hospital. The old man was not by any means 
of the garrulous order; and yet he seemed full of 
thoughts, full of reminiscences, and not disinclined to 
the company of Eedclyffe. In fact, the latter some- 
times flattered himself that a tendency for his society 
was one of the motives that brought him to the gar- 


238 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET. 

'i 

den; thongli the amount of their intercourse, after 
all, was not so great as to warrant the idea of any 
settled purpose in so doing. Nevertheless, they 
talked considerably ; and Eedclyfife could easily see 
that the old man had been an extensive traveller, and 
had perhaps occupied situations far different from his 
present one, and had perhaps been a struggler in 
troubled waters before he was drifted into the retire- 
ment where Eedclyffe found him. He was fond of 
talking about the unsuspected relationship that must 
now be existing between many families in England 
and unknown consanguinity in the new world, where, 
perhaps, really the main stock of the family tree was 
now existing, and with a new spirit and life, which 
the representative growth here in England had lost 
by too long continuance in one air and one mode of 
life. For history and observation proved that all 
people — and the English people by no means less 
than others — needed to be transplanted, or some- 
how renewed, every few generations ; so that, accord- 
ing to this ancient philosopher's theory, it would be 
good for the whole people of England now, if it could 
at once be transported to America, where its fat- 
ness, its sleepiness, its too great beefiness, its pre- 
ponderant animal character, would be rectified by a 
different air and soil ; and equally good, on the other 
hand, for the whole American people to be trans- 
planted back to the original island, where their ner- 
vousness might be weighted with heavier influences, 
where their little women might grow bigger, where 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 239 


their thin, dry men might get a burden of flesh and 
good stomachs, where their children might, with the 
air, draw in a reverence for age, forms, and usage. 

Eedclyffe listened with complacency to these spec- 
ulations, smiling at the thought of such an exodus as 
would take place, and the reciprocal dissatisfaction 
which would probably be the result. But he had 
greater pleasure in drawing out some of the old gen- 
tleman's legendary lore, some of which, whether true 
or not, was very curious.^ 

As Eedclyffe sat one day watching the old man in 
the garden, he could not help being struck by the 
scrupulous care with which he attended to the 
plants ; it seemed to him that there was a sense of 
justice, — of desiring to do exactly what was right in 
the matter, not favoring one plant more than another, 
and doing all he could for each. His progress, in 
consequence, was so slow, that in an hour, while Eed- 
clyffe was off and on looking at him, he had scarcely 
done anything perceptible. Then he was so minute ; 
and often, when he was on the point of leaving one 
thing to take up another, some small neglect that he 
saw or fancied called him back again, to spend other 
minutes on the same task. He was so full of scru- 
ples. It struck Eedclyffe that this was conscience, 
morbid, sick, a despot in trifles, looking so closely 
into life that it permitted nothing to be done. The 
man might once have been strong and able, but by 
some unhealthy process of his life he had ceased to 
be so now. Nor did any happy or satisfactory result 


240 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


appear to come from these painfully wrought efforts ; 
he still seemed to know that he had left something 
undone in doing too much in another direction. Here 
was a lily that had been neglected, while he paid too 
much attention to a rose ; he had set his foot on a 
violet ; he had grubbed up, in his haste, a little plant 
that he mistook for a weed, but that he now sus- 
pected was an herb of grace. Grieved by such re- 
flections as these, he heaved a deep sigh, almost 
amounting to a groan, and sat down on the little stool 
that he carried with him in his weeding, resting his 
face in his hands. 

Eedclyffe deemed that he might be doing the old 
man a good service by interrupting his melancholy 
labors ; so he emerged from the opposite door of the 
summer-house, and came along the adjoining walk 
with somewhat heavy footsteps, in order that the 
palmer might have warning of his approach without 
any grounds to suppose that he had been watched 
hitherto. Accordingly, when he turned into the 
other alley, he found the old man sitting erect on his 
stool, looking composed, but still sad, as was his gen- 
eral custom. 

" After all your wanderings and experience,” said 
he, ‘‘ I observe that you come back to the original 
occupation of cultivating a garden, — the innocent- 
est of all.” 

Yes, so it would seem,” said the old man ; “ but 
somehow or other I do not find peace in this.” 

''These plants and shrubs,” returned Eedclyffe, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 241 


^‘seem at all events to recognize the goodness of 
your rule, so far as it has extended over them. See 
how joyfully they take the sun; how clear [they are] 
from all these vices that lie scattered round, in the 
shape of weeds. It is a lovely sight, and I could 
almost fancy a quiet enjoyment in the plants them- 
selves, which they have no way of making us aware 
of, except by giving out a fragrance.” 

Ah ! how infinitely would that idea increase man’s 
responsibility,” said the old palmer, " if, besides man 
and beast, we should find it necessary to believe that 
there is also another set of beings dependent for their 
happiness on our doing, or leaving undone, what 
might have effect on them!” 

I question,” said Eedclyffe, smiling, whether 
their pleasurable or painful experiences can be so 
keen, that we need trouble our consciences much 
with regard to what we do, merely as it affects them. 
So highly cultivated a conscience as that would be a 
nuisance to one’s self and one’s fellows.” 

You say a terrible thing,” rejoined the old man. 

Can conscience be too much alive in us ? is not 
everything however trifling it seems, an item in the 
gTeat account, which it is of infinite importance 
therefore to have right? A terrible thing is that 
you have said.” 

‘"That may be,” said Eedclyffe; “but it is none 
the less certain to me, that the efficient actors — those 
who mould the world — are the persons in whom 
sometliing else is developed more strongly than con- 
16 


242 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


science. There mnst be an invincible determination 
to effect something; it may be set to work in the 
right direction, but after that it must go onward, 
trampling down small obstacles — small considera- 
tions of right and wrong — as a great rock, thunder- 
ing down a hillside, crushes a thousand sweet flowers, 
and ploughs deep furrows in the innocent hillside.” 

As Eedclyfie gave vent to this doctrine, which was 
not naturally his, but which had been the inculcation 
of a life, hitherto devoted to politics, he was surprised 
to find how strongly sensible he became of the ugli- 
ness and indefensibleness of what he said. He felt 
as if he were speaking under the eye of Omniscience, 
and as if every word he said were weighed, and its 
emptiness detected, by an unfailing intelligence. He 
had thought that he had volumes to say about the 
necessity of consenting not to do right in all matters 
minutely, for the sake of getting out an available and 
valuable right as the whole ; but there was something 
that seemed to tie his tongue. Could it be the quiet 
gaze of this old man, so unpretending, so humble, so 
simple in aspect ? He could not tell, only that he 
faltered, and finally left his speech in the midst. 

But he was surprised to find how he had to struggle 
against a certain repulsion within himself to the old 
man. He seemed so nonsensical, interfering with 
everybody’s right in the world ; so mischievous, stand- 
ing there and shutting out the possibility of action. 
It seemed well to trample him down ; to put him out 
of the way — no matter how — somehow. It gave 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 243 


him, he thought, an inkling of the way in which this 
poor old man had made himself odious to his kind, 
by opposing himself, inevitably, to what was bad in 
man, chiding it by his very presence, accepting noth- 
ing false. You must either love him utterly, or hate 
him utterly ; for he could not let you alone. Eed- 
clyfife, being a susceptible man, felt this influence in 
the strongest way ; for it was as if there was a battle 
within him, one party pulling, wrenching him towards 
the old man, another wrenching him away, so that, by 
the agony of the contest, he felt disposed to end it by 
taking flight, and never seeing the strange individual 
again. He could well enough conceive how a brutal 
nature, if capable of receiving his influence at all, 
might find it so intolerable that it must needs get rid 
of him by violence, — by taking his blood if neces- 
sary. 

All these feelings were but transitory, however; 
they swept across him like a wind, and then he looked 
again at the old man and saw only his simplicity, his 
unworldliness, — saw little more than the worn and 
feeble individual in the Hospital garb, leaning on his 
staff ; and then turning again with a gentle sigh to 
weed in the garden. And then Eedclyffe went away, 
in a state of disturbance for which he could not ac- 
count to himself. 


244 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

High up in the old carved roof, meanwhile, the 
spiders of centuries still hung their flaunting webs 
with a profusion that old Doctor Grimshawe would 
have been ravished to see ; but even this was to be 
remedied, for one day, on looking in, Eedclyffe found 
the great hall dim with floating dust, and down through 
it came great floating masses of cobweb, out of which 
the old Doctor would have undertaken to regenerate 
the world ; and he saw, dimly aloft, men on ladders 
sweeping away these accumulations of years, and 
breaking up the haunts and residences of hereditary 
spiders. 

The stately old hall had been in process of cleaning 
and adapting to the banquet purposes of the nine- 
teenth century, which it was accustomed to subserve, 
in so proud a way, in the sixteenth. It was, in the 
first place, well swept and cleansed ; the painted glass 
windows were cleansed from dust, and several panes, 
which had been unfortunately broken and filled with 
common glass, were filled in with colored panes, which 
the Warden had picked up somewhere in his antiqua- 
rian researches. They were not, to be sure, just what 
vras wanted ; a piece of a saint, from some cathedral 
window, supplying what was lacking of the gorgeous 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 245 


purple of a mediaeval king ; but the general effect was 
rich and good, whenever the misty English atmos- 
phere supplied sunshine bright enough to pervade it. 
Tapestry, too, from antique looms, faded, but still 
gorgeous, was hung upon the walls. Some suits of 
armor, that hung beneath the festal gallery, were pol- 
ished till the old battered helmets and pierced breast- 
plates sent a gleam like that with, which they had 
flashed across the battle-fields of old.^ 

So now the great day of the Warden’s dinner had 
arrived; and, as may be supposed, there were fiery 
times in the venerable old kitchen. The cook, accord- 
ing to ancient custom, concocted many antique dishes, 
such as used to be set before kings and nobles ; dain- 
ties that might have called the dead out of their 
graves ; combinations of ingredients that had ceased 
to be put together for centuries ; historic dishes, which 
had long, long ceased to be in the list of revels. Then 
there was the stalwart English cheer of the sirloin, and 
the round; there were the vast plum-puddings, the 
juicy mutton, the venison ; there was the game, now 
just in season, — the half-tame wild fowl of English 
covers, the half-domesticated wild deer of English 
parks, the heathcock from the far-off hills of Scot- 
land, and one little prairie hen, and some canvas-back 
ducks — obtained. Heaven knows how, in compliment 
to Eedclyffe — from his native shores. 0, the old 
jolly kitchen ! how rich the flavored smoke that went 
up its vast chimney ! how inestimable the atmosphere 
of steam that was diffused through it ! How did the 


246 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


old men peep into it, even venture across the thresh- 
old, braving the hot wrath of the cook and his assist- 
ants, for the sake of imbuing themselves with these 
rich and delicate flavors, receiving them in as it were 
spiritually; for, received through the breath and in the 
atmosphere, it was really a spiritual enjoyment. The 
ghosts of ancient epicures seemed, on that day and 
the few preceding ones, to haunt the dim passages, 
snuffing in with shadowy nostrils the rich vapors, 
assuming visibility in the congenial medium, almost 
becoming earthly again in the strength of their earthly 
longings for one other feast such as they used to 
enjoy. 

Nor is it to be supposed that it was only these 
antique dainties that the Warden provided for his 
feast. No; if the cook, the cultured and recondite 
old cook, who had accumulated within himself all that 
his predecessors knew for centuries, — if he lacked 
anything of modern fashion and improvement, he had 
supplied his defect by temporary assistance from a 
London club ; and the bill of fare was provided with 
dishes that Soyer would not have harshly criticised. 
The ethereal delicacy of modern taste, the nice adjust- 
ment of flowers, the French style of cookery, was 
richly attended to; and the list was long of dishes 
with fantastic names, fish, fowl, and flesh; and en- 
tremets, and sweets,'^ as the English call them, and 
sugared cates, too numerous to think of. 

The wines we will not take upon ourselves to enu- 
merate; but the juice, then destined to be quaffed. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 247 


was in part the precious vintages that had been 
broached half a century ago, and had been ripening 
ever since ; the rich and dry old port, so unlovely to 
the natural palate that it requires long English season- 
ing to get it down ; the sherry, imported before these 
modern days of adulteration ; some claret, the Warden 
said of rarest vintage ; some Burgundy, of which it 
was the quality to warm the blood and genialize ex- 
istence for three days after it was drunk. Then there 
was a rich liquid contributed to this department by 
Eedclyffe himself; for, some weeks since, when the 
banquet first loomed in the distance, he had (anxious 
to evince his sense of the Warden’s kindness) sent 
across the ocean for some famous Madeira which he 
had inherited from the Doctor, and never tasted yet. 
This, together with some of the Western wines of 
America, had arrived, and was ready to be broached. 

The Warden tested these modern wines, and recog- 
nized a new flavor, but gave it only a moderate appro- 
bation ; for, in truth, an elderly Englishman has not 
a wide appreciation of wines, nor loves new things in 
this kind more than in literature or life. But he 
tasted the Madeira, too, and underwent an ecstasy, 
which was only alleviated by the dread of gout, which 
he had an idea that this wine must bring on, — and 
truly, if it were so splendid a wine as he pronounced 
it, some pain ought to follow as the shadow of such a 
pleasure. 

As it was a festival of antique date, the dinner hour 
had been fixed earlier than is usual at such stately ban- 


248 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


quets ; namely, at six o’clock, which was long before 
the dusky hour at which Englishmen love best to dine. 
About that period, the carriages drove into the old 
courtyard of the Hospital in great abundance; block- 
ing up, too, the ancient portal, and remaining in a 
line outside. Carriages they were with armorial 
bearings, family coaches in which came Englishmen 
in their black coats and white neckcloths, elderly, 
white-headed, fresh -colored, squat; not beautiful, 
certainly, nor particularly dignified, nor very well 
dressed, nor with much of an imposing air, but yet, 
somehow or other, producing an effect of force, re- 
spectability, reliableness, trust, which is probably 
deserved, since it is invariably experienced. Cold 
they were in deportment, and looked coldly on the 
stranger, who, on his part, drew himself up with an 
extra haughtiness and reserve, and felt himself in the 
midst of his enemies, and more as if he were going to 
do battle than to sit down to a friendly banquet. 
The Warden introduced him, as an American diplo- 
matist, to one or two of the gentlemen, who regarded 
him forbiddingly, as Englishmen do before dinner. 

Not long after Eedclyffe had entered the reception- 
room, which was but shortly before the hour appointed 
for the dinner, there was another arrival betokened 
by the clatter of hoofs and grinding wheels in the 
courtyard ; and then entered a gentleman of different 
mien from the bluff, ruddy, simple-minded, yet worldly 
Englishmen around him. He was a tall, dark man, 
with a black moustache and almost olive skin, a slen- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 249 


der, lithe figure, a flexible face, quick, flashing, mobile. 
His deportment was graceful; his dress, though it 
seemed to differ in little or nothing from that of the 
gentlemen in the room, had yet a grace and pictu- 
resqueness in his mode of wearing it. He advanced 
to the Warden, who received him with distinction, 
and yet, Eedclyffe fancied, not exactly with cordiality. 
It seemed to Eedclyffe that the Warden looked round, 
as if with the purpose of presenting Eedclyffe to this 
gentleman, but he himself, from some latent reluc- 
tance, had turned away and entered into conversation 
with one of the other gentlemen, who said now, look- 
ing at the new-comer, Are you acquainted with this 
last arrival ? ” 

Not at all,” said Eedclyffe. ‘‘ I know Lord Braith- 
waite by sight, indeed, but have had no introduction. 
He is a man, certainly, of distinguished appearance.” 

“ Why, pretty well,” said the gentleman, “ but un- 
English, as also are his manners. It is a pity to see 
an old English family represented by such a person. 
Neither he, his father, nor grandfather was born 
among us ; he has far more Italian blood than enough 
to drown the slender stream of Anglo-Saxon and 
Norman. His modes of life, his prejudices, his es- 
tates, his religion, are unlike our own ; and yet here 
he is in the position of an old English gentleman, 
possibly to be a peer. You, whose nationality em- 
braces that of all the world, cannot, I suppose, under- 
stand this English feeling.” ^ 

" Pardon me,” said Eedclyffe, " I can perfectly un- 


250 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


derstand it. An American, in his feelings towards 
England, has all the jealousy and exclusiveness of 
Englishmen themselves, — perhaps, indeed, a little 
exaggerated.'’ 

‘"I beg your pardon,” said the Englishman, in- 
credulously, ‘‘I think you cannot possibly under- 
stand it!”^ 

The guests were by this time all assembled, and at 
the Warden's bidding they moved from the reception- 
room to the dining-hall, in some order and precedence, 
of which Eedclyffe could not exactly discover the prin- 
ciple, though he found that to himself — in his qual- 
ity, doubtless, of Ambassador — there was assigned 
a pretty high place. A venerable dignitary of the 
Church — a dean, he seemed to be — having asked a 
blessing, the fair scene of the banquet now lay before 
the guests, presenting a splendid spectacle, in the high- 
walled, antique, tapestried hall, overhung with the 
dark, intricate oaken beams, with the high Gothic 
windows, through one of which the setting sunbeams 
streamed, and showed the figures of kings and war- 
riors, and the old Braithwaites among them. Beneath 
and adown the hall extended the long line of the 
tables, covered with the snow of the damask table- 
cloth, on which glittered, gleamed, and shone a good 
quality of ancient ancestral plate, and an i^ergne of 
silver, extending down the middle; also the gleam of 
golden wine in the decanters; and truly Eedclyffe 
thought that it was a noble spectacle, made so by old 
and stately associations, which made a noble banquet 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 251 


of what otherwise would be only a vulgar dinTler. 
The English have this advantage and know how 
to make use of it. They bring — in these old, time- 
honored feasts — all the past to sit down and take the 
stately refreshment along with them, and they pledge 
the historic characters in their wine. 

A printed bill of fare, in gold letters, lay by each 
plate, on which Eedclyffe saw the company glancing 
with great interest. The first dish, of course, was 
turtle soup, of which — as the gentleman next him, 
the Mayor of a neighboring town, told Eedclyffe — 
it was allowable to take twice. This was accompanied, 
according to one of those rules which one knows not 
whether they are arbitrary or founded on some deep 
reason, by a glass of punch. Then came the noble 
turbot, the salmon, the sole, and divers of fishes, and 
the dinner fairly set in. The genial Warden seemed 
to have given liberal orders to the attendants, for they 
spared not to offer hock, champagne, sherry, to the 
guests, and good bitter ale, foaming in the goblet; 
and so the stately banquet went on, with somewhat 
tedious magnificence ; and yet with a fulness of effect 
and thoroughness of sombre life that made Eedclyffe 
feel that, so much importance being assigned to it, — 
it being so much believed in, — it was indeed a feast. 
The cumbrous courses swept by, one after another; 
and Eedclyffe, finding it heavy work, sat idle most of 
the time, regarding the hall, the old decaying beams, 
the armor hanging beneath the galleries, and these 
Englishmen feasting where their fathers had feasted 


252 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


for so many ages, the same occasion, the same men, 
probably, in appearance, though the black coat and 
the white neckcloth had taken the place of ruff, em- 
broidered doublet, and the magnificence of other ages. 
After all, the English have not such good things to 
eat as we in America, and certainly do not know 
better how to make them palatable.^ 

Well ; but by and by the dinner came to a con- 
clusion, as regarded the eating part ; the cloth was 
withdrawn ; a dessert of fruits, fresh and dried, pines, 
hothouse grapes, and all candied conserves of the 
Indies, was put on the long extent of polished ma- 
hogany. There was a tuning up of musicians, an in- 
terrogative drawing of fiddle-bows, and other musical 
twangs and puffs ; the decanters opposite the Warden 
and his vice-president, — sherry, port, Eedclyffe's Ma- 
deira, and claret, were put in motion along the table, 
and the guests filled their glasses for the toast which, 
at English dinner-tables, is of course the first to be 
honored, — the Queen. Then the band struck up the 
good old anthem, God save the Queen,” which the 
whole company rose to their feet to sing. It was a 
spectacle both interesting and a little ludicrous to 
Eedclyffe, — being so apart from an American’s sym- 
pathies, so unlike anything that he has in his life or 
possibilities, — this active and warm sentiment of 
loyalty, in which love of country centres, and assimi- 
lates, and transforms itself into a passionate affection 
for a person, in whom they love all their institutions. 
To say the truth, it seemed a happy notion; nor 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 253 


could the American — while he comforted himself in 
the pride of his democracy, and that he himself was 
a sovereign — could he help envying it a little, this 
childlike love and reverence for a person embodying 
all their country, their past, their earthly future. He 
felt that it might be delightful to have a sovereign, 
provided that sovereign were always a woman, — 
and perhaps a young and fine one. But, indeed, this 
is not the difliculty, methinks, in English institutions 
which the American finds it hardest to deal with. 
We could endure a born sovereign, especially if made 
such a mere pageant as the English make of theirs. 
What we find it hardest to conceive of is, the satis- 
faction with which Englishmen think of a race above 
them, with privileges that they cannot share, entitled 
to condescend to them, and to have gracious and 
beautiful manners at their expense ; to be kind, sim- 
ple, unpretending, because these qualities are more 
available than haughtiness ; to be specimens of per- 
fect manhood ; — all these advantages in consequence 
of their position. If the peerage were a mere name, 
it would be nothing to envy ; but it is so much more 
than a name ; it enables men to be really so supe- 
rior. The poor, the lower classes, might bear this 
well enough ; but the classes that come next to the 
nobility, — the upper middle classes, — how they 
bear it so lovingly is what must puzzle the Ameri- 
can. But probably the advantage of the peerage is 
the less perceptible the nearer it is looked at. 

It must be confessed that Eedclyffe, as he looked 


254 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


at this assembly of peers and gentlemen, thought 
with some self-gratulation of the probability that he 
had within his power as old a rank, as desirable a 
station, as the best of them ; and that if he were re- 
strained from taking it, it would probably only be by 
the democratic pride that made him feel that he 
could not, retaining all his manly sensibility, accept 
this gewgaw on which the ages — his own country 
especially — had passed judgment, while it had been 
suspended over his head. He felt himself, at any 
rate, in a higher position, having the option of taking 
this rank, and forbearing to do so, than if he took it.® 
After this ensued a ceremony which is of antique 
date in old English corporations and institutions, at 
their high festivals. It is called the Loving Cup. 
A sort of herald or toast-master behind the Warden’s 
chair made proclamation, reciting the names of the 
principal guests, and announcing to them, The 
Warden of the Braithwaite Hospital drinks to you in 
a Loving Cup ” ; of which cup, having sipped, or 
seemed to sip (for Eedclyffe observed that the old 
drinkers were rather shy of it) a small quantity, he 
sent it down the table. Its progress was accompa- 
nied with a peculiar entanglement of ceremony, one 
guest standing up while another drinks, being pretty 
much as follows. First, each guest receiving it cov- 
ered from the next above him, the same took from 
the silver cup its silver cover ; the guest drank with 
a bow to the Warden and company, took the cover 
from the preceding guest, covered the cup, handed it 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 255 


to the next below him, then again removed the cover, 
replaced it after the guest had drunk, who, on his 
part, went through the same ceremony. And thus 
the cup went slowly on its way down the stately hall ; 
these ceremonies being, it is said, originally precau- 
tions against the risk, in wild times, of being stabbed 
by the man who was drinking with you, or poisoned 
by one who should fail to be your taster. The cup 
was a fine, ancient piece of plate, massive, heavy, 
curiously wrought with armorial bearings, in which 
the leopard’s head appeared. Its contents, so far as 
Eedclyffe could analyze them by a moderate sip, ap- 
peared to be claret, sweetened, with spices, and, how- 
ever suited to the peculiarity of antique palates, was 
not greatly to Eedclyfie’s taste.® 

Eedclyffe’s companion just below him, while the 
Loving Cup was beginning its march, had been ex- 
plaining the origin of the custom as a defence of the 
drinker in times of deadly feud ; when it had reached 
Lord Braithwaite, who drank and passed it to Eed- 
clyffe covered, and with the usual bow, Eedclyffe 
• looked into his Lordship’s Italian eyes and dark face 
as he did so, and the thought struck him, that, if there 
could possibly be any use in keeping upvthis old cus- 
tom, it might be so now ; for, how intimated he could 
hardly tell, he was sensible in his deepest self of a 
deadly hostility in this dark, courteous, handsome 
face. He kept his eyes fixed on his Lordship as he 
received the cup, and felt that in his own glance 
there was an acknowledgment of the enmity that he 


256 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


perceived, and a defiance, expressed without visible 
sign, and felt in the bow with which they greeted 
one another. When they had both resumed their 
seats, Eedclyffe chose to make this ceremonial inter- 
course the occasion of again addressing him. 

‘‘I know not whether your Lordship is more ac- 
customed than -myself to these stately ceremonials,” 
said he. 

''No,” said Lord Braithwaite, whose English was 
very good. " But this is a good old ceremony, and an 
ingenious one ; for does it not twine us into knotted 
links of love — this Loving Cup — like a wreath of 
Bacchanals whom I have seen surrounding an antique 
vase. Doubtless it has great efficacy in entwining 
a company of friendly guests into one affectionate 
society.” 

" Yes ; it should seem so,” replied Eedclyffe, with 
a smile, and again meeting those black eyes, which 
smiled back on him. "It should seem so, but it 
appears that the origin of the custom was quite dif- 
ferent, and that it was as a safeguard to a man when 
he drank with his enemy. What a peculiar flavor it 
must have given to the liquor, when the eyes of two 
deadly foes met over the brim of the Loving Cup, 
and the drinker knew that, if he withdrew it, a dag- 
ger would be in his heart, and the other watched 
him drink, to see if it was poison ! ” 

" Ah ! ” responded his Lordship, " they had strange 
fashions in those rough old times. Nowadays, we 
neither stab, shoot, nor poison. I scarcely think we 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 257 


hate except as interest guides us, without malevo- 
lence.” 

This singular conversation was interrupted by a 
toast, and the rising of one of the guests to answer it. 
Several other toasts of routine succeeded; one of 
which, being to the honor of the old founder of the 
Hospital, Lord Braithwaite, as his representative, rose 
to reply, — which he did in good phrases, in a sort of 
eloquence unlike that of the Englishmen around him, 
and, sooth to say, comparatively unaccustomed as he 
must have been to the use of the language, much 
more handsomely than they. In truth, Eedclyffe was 
struck and amused with the rudeness, the slovenli- 
ness, the inartistic quality of the English speakers, 
who rather seemed to avoid grace and neatness of set 
purpose, as if they would be ashamed of it. Nothing 
could be more ragged than these utterances which 
they called speeches; so patched, and darned; and 
yet, somehow or other — though dull and heavy as 
all which seemed to inspire them — they had a kind 
of force. Each man seemed to have the faculty of 
getting, after some rude fashion, at the sense and feel- 
ing that was in him ; and without glibness, -without 
smoothness, without form or comeliness, still the 
object with which each one rose to speak was ac- 
complished, — and what was more remarkable, it 
seemed to be accomplished without the speaker’s 
having any particular plan for doing it. He was sur- 
prised, too, to observe how loyally every man seemed 
to think himself bound to speak, and rose to do his 
17 


258 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


best, however unfit his usual habits made 'him for 
the task. Observing this, and thinking how many 
an American would be taken aback and dumbfounded 
by being called on for a dinner speech, he could not 
but doubt the correctness of the general opinion, that 
Englishmen are naturally less facile of public speech 
than our countrymen. 

You surpass your countrymen,” said Eedclyffe, 
when his Lordship resumed his seat, amid rapping 
and loud applause. 

My countrymen ? I scarcely know whether you 
mean the English or Italians,” said Lord Braithwaite. 

Like yourself, I am a hybrid, with really no country, 
and ready to take up with any.” 

“ I have a country, — one which I am little in- 
clined to deny,” replied Eedclyffe, gravely, while a 
flush (perhaps of conscientious shame) rose to his 
brow. 

His Lordship bowed, with a dark Italian smile, but 
Eedclyffe's attention was drawn away from the con- 
versation by a toast which the Warden now rose to 
give, and in which he found himself mainly con- 
cerned. With a little preface of kind words (not 
particularly aptly applied) to the great and kindred 
country beyond the Atlantic, the worthy Warden 
proceeded to remark that his board was honored, on 
this high festival, with a guest from that new world ; 
a gentleman yet young, but already distinguished in 
the councils of his country ; the bearer, he remarked, 
of an honored English name, which might well claim 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 259 


to be remembered here, and on this occasion, although 
he had understood from his friend that the American 
bearers of this name did not count kindred with the 
English ones. This gentleman, he further observed, 
with considerable flourish and emphasis, had recently 
been called from his retirement and wanderings into 
the diplomatic service of his country, which he would 
say, from his knowledge, the gentleman was well 
calculated to honor. He drank the health of the 
Honorable Edward Eedclyffe, Ambassador of the 
United States to the Court of Hohen-Linden. 

Our English cousins received this toast with the 
kindest enthusiasm, as they always do any such allu- 
sion to our country ; it being a festal feeling, not to 
be used except on holidays. They rose, with glass in 
hand, in honor of the Ambassador ; the band struck 
up '' Hail, Columbia ” ; and our hero marshalled his 
thoughts as well as he might for the necessary re- 
sponse; and when the tumult subsided he arose. 

His quick apprehending had taught him something 
of the difi’erence of taste between an English and an 
American audience at a dinner-table ; he felt that 
there must be a certain looseness, and carelessness, 
and roughness, and yet a certain restraint ; that he 
must not seem to aim at speaking well, although, for 
his own ambition, he was not content to speak ill ; 
that, somehow or other, he must get a heartiness into 
his speech ; that he must not polish, nor be too neat, 
and must come with a certain rudeness to his good 
points, as if he blundered on them, and were sur- 


260 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


prised into them. Above all, he must let the good 
wine and cheer, and all that he knew and really felt 
of English hospitality, as represented by the kind 
Warden, do its work upon his heart, and speak up 
to the extent of what he felt — and if a little more, 
then no great harm — about his own love for the 
father-land, and the broader grounds of the relations 
between the two countries. On this system, Eedclyffe 
began to speak ; and being naturally and habitually 
eloquent, and of mobile and ready sensibilities, he 
succeeded, between art and nature, in making a 
speech that absolutely delighted the company, who 
made the old hall echo, and the banners wave and 
tremble, and the board shake, and the glasses jingle, 
with their rapturous applause. What he said — or 
some shadow of it, and more than he quite liked to 
own — was reported in the county paper that gave 
a report of the dinner ; but on glancing over it, it 
seems not worth while to produce this eloquent effort 
in our pages, the occasion and topics being of merely 
temporary interest. 

Eedclyffe sat down, and sipped his claret, feeling 
a little ashamed of himself, as people are apt to do 
after a display of this kind. 

You know the way to the English heart better 
than I do,” remarked his Lordship, after a polite 
compliment to the speech. Methinks these dull 
English are being improved in your atmosphere. The 
English need a change every few centuries, — either 
by immigration of new stock, or transportation of 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 261 

the old, — or else they grow too gross and earthly, 
with their beef, mutton, and ale. I think, now, it 
might benefit both countries, if your New England 
population were to be reciprocally exchanged with 
an equal number of Englishmen. Indeed, Italians 
might do as well.’' 

I should regret,” said EedclyfFe, to change the 
English, heavy as they are.” 

“ You are an admirable Englishman,” said his 
Lordship. Eor my part, I cannot say that the 
people are very much to my taste, any more than 
their skies and climate, in which I have shivered 
during the two years that I have spent here.” 

Here their conversation ceased ; and EedclyfFe lis- 
tened to a long train of speechifying, in the course 
of which everybody, almost, was toasted ; everybody 
present, at all events, and many absent. The War- 
den's old wine was not spared ; the music rang and 
resounded from the gallery ; and everybody seemed to 
consider it a model feast, although there were no very 
vivid signs of satisfaction, but a decorous, heavy en- 
joyment, a dull red heat of pleasure, without flame. 
Soda and seltzer-water, and coffee, by and by were 
circulated ; and at a late hour the company began to 
retire. 

Before taking his departure. Lord Braithwaite re- 
sumed his conversation with EedclyfFe, and, as it 
appeared, with the purpose of making a hospitable 
proposition. 

'' I live very much alone,” said he, being insu- 


262 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


lated from my neighbors by many circumstances, — 
habits, religion, and everything else peculiarly Eng- 
lish. If you are curious about old English modes of 
life, I can show you, at least, an English residence, 
little altered within a century past. Pray come and 
spend a week with me before you leave this part of 
the country. Besides, I know the court to which 
you are accredited, and can give you, perhaps, useful 
information about it.” 

Eedclyfife looked at him in some surprise, and with 
a nameless hesitation ; for he did not like his Lord- 
ship, and had fancied, in truth, that there was a 
reciprocal antipathy. Nor did he yet feel that he 
was mistaken in this respect ; although his Lord- 
ship’s invitation was given in a tone of frankness, 
and seemed to have no reserve, except that his eyes 
did not meet his like Anglo-Saxon eyes, and there 
seemed an Italian looking out from within the man. 
But Eedclyffe had a sort of repulsion within himself ; 
and he questioned whether it would be fair to his 
proposed host to accept his hospitality, while he had 
this secret feeling of hostility and repugnance, — 
which might be well enough accounted for by the 
knowledge that he secretly entertained hostile inter- 
ests to their race, and half a purpose of putting them 
in force. And, besides this, — although Eedclyffe 
was ashamed of the feeling, — he had a secret dread, 
a feeling that it was not just a safe thing to trust 
himself in this man’s power ; for he had a sense, sure 
as death, that he did not wish him well, and had a 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWIPS SECRET. 263 


secret dread of the American. But he laughed within 
himself at this feeling, and drove it down. Yet it 
made him feel that there could be no disloyalty in 
accepting his Lordship’s invitation, because it was 
given in as little friendship as it would be accepted. 

I had almost made my arrangements for quitting 
the neighborhood,” said he, after a pause ; nor can 
I shorten the week longer which I had promised to 
spend with my very kind friend, the Warden. Yet 
your Lordship’s kindness offers me a great tempta- 
tion, and I would gladly spend the next ensuing week 
at Braithwaite Hall.” 

I shall expect you, then,” said Lord Braithwaite. 
‘‘You will find me quite alone, except my chaplain, — 
a scholar, and a man of the world, whom you will 
not be sorry to know.” 

He bowed and took his leave, without shaking 
hands, as an American would have thought it natu- 
ral to do, after such a hospitable agreement ; nor did 
Eedclyffe make any motion towards it, and was glad 
that his Lordship had omitted it. On the whole, 
there was a secret dissatisfaction with himself ; a 
sense that he was not doing quite a frank and true 
thing in accepting this invitation, and he only made 
peace with himself on the consideration that Lord 
Braithwaite was as little cordial in asldng the visit 
as he in acceding to it. 


264 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XX. 

The guests were now rapidly taking their depart- 
ure, and the Warden and Eedclyffe were soon left 
alone in the antique hall, which now, in its solitude, 
presented an aspect far different from the gay fes- 
tivity of an hour before ; the duskiness up in the 
carved oaken beams seemed to descend and fill the 
hall ; and the remembrance of the feast was like one 
of those that had taken place centuries ago, with 
which this was now numbered, and growing ghostly, 
and faded, and sad, even as they had long been. 

‘'Well, my dear friend,” said the Warden, stretch- 
ing himself and yawning, “ it is over. Come into my 
study with me, and we will have a devilled turkey- 
bone and a pint of sherry in peace and comfort.” 

“ I fear I can make no figure at such a supper,” 
said Eedclyffe. “But I admire your inexhaustible- 
ness in being ready for midnight refreshment after 
such a feast.” 

“ Xot a glass of good liquor has moistened my lips 
to-night,” said the Warden, “save and except such as 
was supplied by a decanter of water made brown with 
toast ; and such a sip as I took to the health of the 
Queen, and another to that of the Ambassador to 
Hohen-Linden. It is the only way, when a man 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 265 


has this vast labor of speechifying to do ; and in- 
deed there is no possibility of keeping up a jolly 
countenance for such a length of time except on 
toast-water/^ 

They accordingly adjourned to the Warden’s sanc- 
tum, where that worthy dignitary seemed to enjoy 
himself over his sherry and cracked bones, in a de- 
gree that he probably had not heretofore ; while Eed- 
clyffe, whose potations had been more liberal, and who 
was feverish and disturbed, tried the effect of a little 
brandy and soda-water. As often happens at such 
midnight symposiums, the two friends found them- 
selves in a more kindly and confidential vein than had 
happened before, great as had been the kindness and 
confidence already grown up between them. Eedclyffe 
told his friend of Lord Braithwaite’s invitation, and of 
his own resolution to accept it. 

Why not ? You will do well,” said the Warden ; 
and you will find his Lordship an accustomed host, 
and the old house most interesting. If he knows the 
secrets of it himself, and will show them, they will be 
well worth the seeing.” 

I have had a scruple in accepting this invitation,” 
said Eedclyffe. 

" I cannot see why,” said the Warden. I advise 
it by all means, since I shall lose nothing by it my- 
self, as it win not lop off any part of your visit to 
me.” 

My dear friend,” said Eedclyffe, irresistibly im- 
pelled to a confidence which he had not meditated 


266 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


a moment before, “there is a foolish secret which I 
must tell you, if you will listen to it ; and which I 
have only not revealed to you because it seemed to 
me foolish and dream-like; because, too, I am an 
American, and a democrat ; because I am ashamed of 
myself and laugh at myself.” 

“ Is it a long story ? ” asked the Warden. 

“I can make it of any length, and almost any 
brevity,” said Eedclyffe. 

“ I will fill my pipe then,” answered the Warden, 
“ and listen at my ease ; and if, as you intimate, there 
prove to be any folly in it, I will impute it all to the 
kindly freedom with which you have partaken of our 
English hospitality, and forget it before to-morrow 
morning.” 

He settled himself in his easy-chair, in a most lux- 
urious posture ; and Eedclyffe, who felt a strange re- 
luctance to reveal — for the first time in his life — 
the shadowy hopes, if hopes they were, and purposes, 
if such they could be called, with which he had 
amused himself so many years, begun the story from 
almost the earliest period that he could remember. 
He told even of his earliest recollection, with an old 
w^oman, in the almshouse, and how he had been found 
there by the Doctor, and educated by him, with all 
the hints and half-revelations that had been made 
to him. He described the singular character of the 
Doctor, his scientific pursuits, his evident accomplish- 
ments, his great abilities, his morbidness and melan- 
choly, his moodiness, and finally his death, and the 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 267 


singular circumstances that accompanied it. The 
story took a considerable time to tell; and after 
its close, the Warden, who had only interrupted it 
by now and then a question to make it plainer, 
continued to smoke his pipe slowly and thought- 
fully for a long while. 

This Doctor of yours was a singular character,” 
said he. Evidently, from what you tell me as to 
the accuracy of his local reminiscences, he must have 
been of this part of the country, — of this imme- 
diate neighborhood, — and such a man could not 
have grown up here without being known. I my- 
self — for I am an old fellow now — might have 
known him if he lived to manhood hereabouts.” 

“ He seemed old to me when I first knew him,” 
said Eedclyffe. But children make no distinctions 
of age. He might have been forty-five then, as well 
as I can judge.” 

"" You are now twenty-seven or eight,” said the 
Warden, “and were four years old when you first 
knew him. He might now be sixty-five. Do you 
know, my friend, that I have something like a cer- 
tainty that I know who your Doctor was ? ” 

“ How strange this seems ! ” exclaimed Eedclyffe. 
“ It has never struck me that I should be able to 
identify this singular personage with any surround- 
ings or any friends.” 

The Warden, to requite his friend's story, — and 
without as yet saying a word, good or bad, on his 
ancestral claims, — proceeded to tell him some of the 


268 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


gossip of the neighborhood, — what had been gossip 
thirty or forty years ago, but was now forgotten, or, 
at all events, seldom spoken of, and only known to 
the old, at the present day. He himself remembered 
it only as a boy, and imperfectly. There had been a 
personage of that day, a man of poor estate, who had 
fallen deeply in love and been betrothed to a young 
lady of family; he was a young man of more than 
ordinary abilities, and of great promise, though small 
fortune. It was not well known how, but the match 
between him and the young lady was broken off. 
and his place was supplied by the then proprietor of 
Braithwaite Hall; as it was supposed, by the arti- 
fices of her mother. There had been circumstances 
of peculiar treachery in the matter, and Mr. Ogle- 
thorpe had taken it severely to heart; so severely, 
indeed, that he had left the country, after selling his 
ancestral property, and had only been occasionally 
heard of again. Now, from certain circumstances, it 
had struck the Warden that this might be the mys- 
terious Doctor of whom Eedclyffe spoke.^ 

""But why,” suggested Eedclyffe, ""should a man 
with these wrongs to avenge take such an interest in 
a descendant of his enemy’s family ? ” 

"" That is a strong point in favor of my supposition,” 
replied the Warden. ""There is certainly, and has 
long been, a degree of probability that the true heir 
of this family exists in America. If Oglethorpe could 
discover him, he ousts his enemy from the estate and 
honors, and substitutes the person whom he has dis- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 269 


covered and educated. Most certainly there is re- 
venge in the thing. Should it happen now, however, 
the triumph would have lost its sweetness, even were 
Oglethorpe alive to partake of it ; for his enemy is 
dead, leaving no heir, and this foreign branch has 
come in without Oglethorpe’s aid.’’ 

The friends remained musing a considerable time, 
each in his own train of thought, till the Warden 
suddenly spoke. 

Do you mean to prosecute this apparent claim of 
yours ? ” 

I have not intended to do so,” said Eedclyffe. 

Of course,” said the Warden, that should depend 
upon the strength of your ground ; and I understand 
you that there is some link wanting to establish it. 
Otherwise, I see not how you can hesitate. Is it a 
little thing to hold a claim to an old English estate 
and honors ? ” 

“No; it is a very great thing, to an Englishman 
born, and who need give up no higher birthright to 
avail himself of it,” answered Eedclyffe. “ You will 
laugh at me, my friend ; but I cannot help feeling 
that I, a simple citizen of a republic, yet with none 
above me except those whom I help to place there, 
— and who are my servants, not my superiors, — 
must stoop to take these honors. I leave a set of 
institutions which are the noblest that the wit and 
civilization of man have yet conceived, to enlist my- 
self in one that is based on a far lower conception of 
man, and which therefore lowers every one who shares 


270 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


in it. Besides,” said the young man, his eyes kin- 
dling with the ambition which had been so active a 
principle in his life, what prospects — what rewards 
for spirited exertion — what a career, only open to an 
American, would I give up, to become merely a rich 
and idle Englishman, belonging (as I should) nowhere, 
without a possibility of struggle, such as a strong 
man loves, with only a mockery of a title, which in 
these days really means nothing, — hardly more than 
one of our own Honorables. What has any success 
in English life to offer (even were it within my reach, 
which, as a stranger, it would not be) to balance the 
proud career of an American statesman ? ” 

True, you might be a President, I suppose,” said 
the Warden, rather contemptuously, — “a four years’ 
potentate. It seems to me an office about on a par 
with that of the Lord Mayor of London. For my 
part, I would rather be a baron of three or four hun- 
dred years’ antiquity.” 

‘/We talk in vain,” said EedclyfiFe, laughing. 
“We do not approach one another’s ideas on this 
subject. But, waiving all speculations as to my at- 
tempting to avail myself of this claim, do you think 
I can fairly accept this invitation to visit Lord Braith- 
waite ? There is certainly a possibility that I may 
arraign myself against his dearest interests. Con- 
scious of this, can I accept his hospitality ? ” 

The Warden paused. “ You have not sought access 
to his house,” he observed. “ You have no designs, 
it seems, no settled designs at aU events, against liis 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 271 


Lordship, — nor is there a probability that they would 
be forwarded by your accepting this invitation, even 
if you had any. I do not see but you may go. The 
only danger is, that his Lordship’s engaging quali- 
ties may seduce you into dropping your claims out 
of a chivalrous feeling, which I see is among your 
possibilities. To be sure, it would be more satisfac- 
tory if he knew your actual position, and should then 
renew his invitation.” 

I am convinced,” said Eedclyffe, looking up from 
his musing posture, '' that he does know them. You 
are surprised ; but in all Lord Braithwaite’s manner 
towards me there has been an undefinable something 
that makes me aware that he knows on what terms 
we stand towards each other. There is nothing in- 
conceivable in this. The family have for generations 
been suspicious of an American line, and have more 
than once sent messengers to try to search out and put 
a stop to the apprehension. Why should it not have 
come to their knowledge that there was a person with 
such claims, and that he is now in England ? ” 

‘"It certainly is possible,” replied the Warden, 
and if you are satisfied that his Lordship knows it, 
or even suspects it, you meet him on fair ground. 
But I fairly tell you, my good friend, that — his Lord- 
ship being a man of unknown principles of honor, 
outlandish, and an Italian in habit and moral sense 
— I scarcely like to trust you in his house, he being 
aware that your existence may be inimical to him. 
My humble board is the safer of the two.” 


272 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


Pshaw!” said Eedclyffe. You Englishmen are 
so suspicious of anybody not regularly belonging to 
yourselves. Poison and the dagger haunt your con- 
ceptions of all others. In America you think we kill 
every third man with the bowie-knife. But, suppos- 
ing there were any grounds for your suspicion, I would 
still encounter it. An American is no braver than 
an Englishman ; but still he is not quite so chary of 
his life as the latter, who never risks it except on the 
most imminent necessity. We take such matters 
easy. In regard to this invitation, I feel that I can 
honorably accept it, and there are many idle and cu- 
rious motives that impel me to it. I will go.” 

Be it so ; but you must come back to me for an- 
other week, after finishing your visit,” said the War- 
den. After all, it was an idle fancy in me that there 
could be any danger. His Lordship has good English 
blood in his veins, and it would take oceans and riv- 
ers of Italian treachery to wash out the sterling qual- 
ity of it. And, my good friend, as to these claims of 
yours, I would not have you trust too much to what 
is probably a romantic dream ; yet, were the dream to 
come true, I should think the British peerage honored 
by such an accession to its ranks. And now to bed ; 
for we have heard the chimes of midnight, two hours 
agone.” 

They accordingly retired ; and Eedclyffe was sur- 
prised to find what a distinctness his ideas respecting 
his claim to the Braithwaite honors had assumed, now 
that he, after so many years, had imparted them to 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE*S SECRET. 273 


another. Heretofore, though his imagination had 
played with them so much, they seemed the veriest 
dreams; now, they had suddenly taken form and 
hardened into substance; and he became aware, in 
spite of all the lofty and patriotic sentiments which 
he had expressed to the Warden, that these prospects 
had really much importance in his mind. 

Eedclylfe, during the few days that he was to spend 
at the Hospital, previous to his visit to Braithwaite 
Hall, was conscious of a restlessness such as we have 
all felt on the eve of some interesting event. He 
wondered at himself at being so much wrought up by 
so simple a thing as he was about to do ; but it seemed 
to him like a coming home after an absence of centu- 
ries. It was like an actual prospect of entrance into 
a castle in the air, — the shadowy threshold of which 
should assume substance enough to bear his foot, its 
thin, fantastic walls actually protect him from sun 
and rain, its hall echo with his footsteps, its hearth 
warm him. That delicious, thrilling uncertainty be- 
tween reality and fancy, in which he had often been 
enwrapt since his arrival in this region, enveloped 
him more strongly than ever ; and with it, too, there 
came a sort of apprehension, which sometimes shud- 
dered through him like an icy draught, or the touch 
of cold steel to his heart. He was ashamed, too, to 
be conscious of anything like fear ; yet he would not 
acknowledge it for fear ; and indeed there was such 
an airy, exhilarating, thrilling pleasure bound up with 
it, that it could not really be so. 

18 


274 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


It was in this state of mind that, a day or two after 
the feast, he saw Colcord sitting on the bench, before 
the portal of the Hospital, in the sun, which — Sep- 
tember though it was — still came warm and bright 
(for English sunshine) into that sheltered spot; a 
spot where many generations of old men had warmed 
their limbs, while they looked down into the life, the 
torpid life, of the old village that trailed its homely 
yet picturesque street along by the venerable build- 
ings of the Hospital. 

«My good friend,” said Eedclyffe, am about 
leaving you, for a time, — indeed, with the limited 
time at my disposal, it is possible that I may not be 
able to come back hither, except for a brief visit. 
Before I leave you, I would fain know something 
more about one whom I must ever consider my ben- 
efactor.” 

Yes,” said the old man, with his usual benignant 
quiet, I saved your life. It is yet to be seen, per- 
haps, whether thereby I made myself your benefac- 
tor. I trust so.” 

"'I feel it so, at least,” answered Eedclyffe, "'and I 
assure you life has a new value for me since I came 
to this place ; for I have a deeper hold upon it, as it 
were, — more hope from it, more trust in something 
good to come of it.” 

" This is a good change, — or should be so,” quoth 
the old man. 

“ Do you know,” continued Eedclyffe, " how long 
you have been a figure in my life ? ” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 275 

I know it/’ said Colcord, " tliongh you might well 
have forgotten it.” 

"Not so,” said Eedclyffe. "I remember, as if it 
were this morning, that time in New England when 
I first saw you.” 

" The man with whom you then abode,” said Col- 
cord, " knew who I was.” 

" And he being dead, and finding you here now, 
by such a strange coincidence,” said Eedclyffe, " and 
being myself a man capable of taking your counsel, I 
would have you impart it to me : for I assure you 
that the current of my life runs darkly on, and I 
would be glad of any light on its future, or even its 
present phase.” 

" I am not one of those from whom the world waits 
for counsel,” said the pensioner, " and I know not 
that mine would be advantageous to you, in the light 
which men usually prize. Yet if I were to give any, 
it would be that you should be gone hence.” 

" Gone hence ! ” repeated Eedclyffe, surprised. " I 
tell you — what I have hardly hitherto told to myself 
— that all my dreams, all my wishes hitherto, have 
looked forward to precisely the juncture that seems 
now to be approaching. My dreaming childhood 
dreamt of this. If you know anything of me, you 
know how I sprung out of mystery, akin to none, a 
thing concocted out of the elements, without visible 
agency ; how all through my boyhood I was alone ; 
how I grew up without a root, yet continually long- 
ing for one, — longing to be connected with some- 


276 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


body, and never feeling myself so. Yet there was 
ever a looking forward to this time at which I now 
find myself. If my next step were death, yet while 
the path seemed to lead toward a certainty of estab- 
lishing me in connection with my race, I would take 
it. I have tried to keep down this yearning, to stifle 
it, annihilate it, by making a position for myself, by 
being my own fact ; but I cannot overcome the nat- 
ural horror of being a creature floating in the air, 
attached to nothing ; ever this feeling that there is 
no reality in the life and fortunes, good or bad, of a 
being so unconnected. There is not even a grave, not 
a heap of dry bones, not a pinch of dust, with which 
I can claim kindred, unless I find it here ! ” 

''This is sad,” said the old man, — "this strong 
yearning, and nothing to gratify it. Yet, I warn you, 
do not seek its gratification here. There are delu- 
sions, snares, pitfalls, in this life. I warn you, quit 
the search.” 

"No,” said Eedclyffe, "I will follow the mysterious 
clue that seems to lead me on; and, even now, it 
pulls me one step further.” 

" How is that ? ” asked the old man. 

" It leads me onward even as far as the threshold 
— across the threshold — of yonder mansion,” said 
Eedclyffe. 

" Step not across it ; there is blood on that thresh- 
old ! ” exclaimed the pensioner. " A bloody footstep 
emerging. Take heed that there be not as bloody a 
one entering in ! ” 


DOCTOR GEIMSHAWRS SECRET, 277 


Pshaw!’' said Eedclyffe, feeling the ridicule of 
the emotion into which he had been betrayed, as the 
old man’s wildness of demeanor made him feel that 
he was talking with a monomaniac. ''We are talking 
idly. I do but go, in the common intercourse of 
society, to see the old English residence which (such 
is the unhappy obscurity of my position) I fancy, 
among a thousand others, may have been that of my 
ancestors. Nothing is likely to come of it. My foot 
is not bloody, nor polluted with anything except the 
mud of the damp English soil.” 

" Yet go not in ! ” persisted the old man. 

" Yes, I must go,” said Eedclyffe, determinedly, 
" and I will.” 

Ashamed to have been moved to such idle utter- 
ances by anything that the old man could say, ^ Eed- 
clyffe turned away, though he still heard the sad, 
half-uttered remonstrance of the old man, like a 
moan behind him, and wondered what strange fancy 
had taken possession of him. 

The effect which this opposition had upon him 
made him the more aware how much his heart was 
set upon this visit to the Hall ; how much he had 
counted upon being domiciliated there ; what a wrench 
it would be to him to tear himself away without 
going into that mansion, and penetrating all the mys- 
teries wherewith his imagination, exercising itself 
upon the theme since the days of the old Doctor’s 
fireside talk, had invested it. In his agitation he wan- 
dered forth from the Hospital, and, passing through 


278 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


the village street, found himself in the park of Braitk- 
waite Hall, where he wandered for a space, until his 
steps led him to a point whence the venerable Hall 
appeared, with its limes and its oaks around it ; its look 
of peace, and aged repose, and loveliness ; its stately 
domesticity, so ancient, so beautiful ; its mild, sweet 
simplicity ; it seemed the ideal of home. The thought 
thrilled his bosom, that this was his home, — the 
home of the wild Western wanderer, who had gone 
away centuries ago, and encountered strange chances, 
and almost forgotten his origin, but still kept a clue 
to bring him back; and had now come back, and 
found all the original emotions safe within him. It 
even seemed to him, that, by his kindred with those 
who had gone before, — by the line of sensitive blood 
linking him with that final emigrant, — he could re- 
member all these objects ; — that tree, hardly more 
venerable now than then ; that clock-tower, still 
marking the elapsing time; that spire of the old 
church, raising itself beyond. He spread out his 
arms in a kind of rapture, and exclaimed : — 

0 home, my home, my forefathers’ home ! I 
have come back to thee ! The wanderer has come 
back ! ” 

There was a slight stir near him ; and on a mossy 
seat, that was arranged to take advantage of a remark- 
ably good point of view of the old Hall, he saw Elsie 
sitting. She had her drawing-materials with her, and 
had probably been taking a sketch. Eedclyffe was 
ashamed of having been overheard by any one giv- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 279 


ing way to such idle passion as he had been betrayed 
into ; and yet, in another sense, he was glad, — glad, 
at least, that something of his feeling, as yet un- 
spoken to human being, was shared, and shared by 
her with whom, alone of living beings, he had any 
sympathies of old date, and whom he often thought 
of with feelings that drew him irresistibly towards 
her. 

Elsie,” said he, uttering for the first time the 
old name, Providence makes you my confidant. 
We have recognized each other, though no word has 
passed between us. Let us speak now again with 
one another. How came you hither ? What has 
brought us together again? — Away with this strange- 
ness that lurks between us ! Let us meet as those 
who began life together, and whose life-strings, being 
so early twisted in unison, cannot now be torn 
apart.” 

You are not wise,” said Elsie, in a faltering voice, 
to break the restraint we have tacitly imposed upon 
ourselves. Do not let us speak further on this 
subject.” 

‘'How strangely everything evades me!” exclaimed 
Eedclyffe. “ I seem to be in a land of enchantment, 
where I can get hold of nothing that lends me a firm 
support. There is no medium in my life between 
the most vulgar realities and the most vaporous fic- 
tion, too thin to breathe. Tell me, Elsie, how came 
you here? Why do you not meet me frankly? What 
is there to keep you apart from the oldest friend, I 


280 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE''S SECRET. 


am bold to say, you have on earth? Are you an 
English girl ? Are you one of our own New England 
maidens, with her freedom, and her know-how, and 
her force, beyond anything that these demure and 
decorous damsels can know ? ” 

“This is wild,'’ said Elsie, struggling for compos- 
ure, yet strongly moved by the recollections that he 
brought up. “It is best that we should meet as 
strangers, and so part." 

“ No," said Eedclyffe ; “ the long past comes up, 
with its memories, and yet it is not so powerful as 
the powerful present. We have metagain; our ad- 
ventures have shown that Providence has designed a 
relation in my fate to yours. Elsie, are you lonely as 
lam?" 

“No," she replied, “I have bonds, ties, a life, a 
duty. I must live that life and do that duty. You 
have, likewise, both. Do yours, lead your own life, 
like me.” 

“ Do you know, Elsie," he said, “ whither that life 
is now tending ? " 

“ Whither ? " said she, turning towards him. 

“ To yonder Hall," said he. 

She started up, and clasped her hands about his 
arm. 

“No, no !" she exclaimed, “go not thither ! There 
is blood upon the threshold ! Eeturn : a dreadful 
fatality awaits you here." 

“Come with me, then," said he, “and I yield my 
purpose." 


f 

DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 281 

" It cannot be/’ said Elsie. 

Then I, too, tell you it cannot be,” returned Eed- 
clyffe.2 

The dialogue had reached this point, when there 
came a step along the wood-path ; the branches rus- 
tled, and there was Lord Braithwaite, looking upon 
the pair with the ordinary slightly sarcastic glance 
with which he gazed upon the world. 

‘‘A fine morning, fair lady and fair sir,” said he. 

We have few such, except in Italy.” 


282 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

So Eedclyffe left the Hospital, where he had spent 
many weeks of strange and not unhappy life, and 
went to accept the invitation of the lord of Braith- 
waite Hall. It was with a thrill of strange delight, 
poignant almost to pain, that he found himself driving 
up to the door of the Hall, and actually passing the 
threshold of the house. He looked, as he stept over 
it, for the Bloody Footstep, with wliich the house had 
so long been associated in his imagination ; but could 
nowhere see it. The footman ushered him into a 
hall, which seemed to be in the centre of the building, 
and where, little as the autumn was advanced, a fire 
was nevertheless burning and glowing on the hearth ; 
nor was its effect undesirable in the somewhat gloomy 
room. The servants had evidently received orders 
respecting the guest ; for they ushered him at once 
to his chamber, which seemed not to be one of those 
bachelor’s rooms, where, in an English mansion, young 
and single men are forced to be entertained with very 
bare and straitened accommodations; but a large, 
well, though antiquely and solemnly furnished room, 
with a curtained bed, and all manner of elaborate 
contrivances for repose ; but the deep embrasures of 
the windows made it gloomy, with the little light that 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 283 


they admitted through their small panes. There 
must have been English attendance in this depart- 
ment of the household arrangements, at least; for 
nothing could exceed the exquisite nicety and finish 
of everything in the room, the cleanliness, the atten- 
tion to comfort, amid antique aspects of furniture; 
the rich, deep preparations for repose. 

The servant told Eedclyffe that his master had rid- 
den out, and, adding that luncheon would be on the 
table at two o’clock, left him ; and Eedclyffe sat some 
time trying to make out and distinguish the feelings 
■^ith which he found himself here, and realizing a life- 
long dream. He ran back over all the legends which 
the Doctor used to tell about this mansion, and won- 
dered whether this old, rich chamber were the one 
where any of them had taken place; whether the 
shadows of the dead haunted here. But, indeed, if 
this were the case, the apartment must have been 
very much changed, antique though it looked, with 
the second, or third, or whatever other numbered ar- 
rangement, since those old days of tapestry hangings 
and rush-strewed floor. Otherwise this stately and 
gloomy chamber was as likely as any other to have 
been the one where his ancestor appeared for the last 
time in the paternal mansion ; here he might have 
been the night before that mysterious Bloody Footstep 
was left on the threshold, whence had arisen so many 
wild legends, and since the impression of which 
nothing certain had ever been known respecting that 
ill-fated man, — nothing certain in England at least, 


284 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


— and whose story was left so ragged and question- 
able even by all that he could add. 

Do what he could, Eedclyffe still was not con- 
scious of that deep home-feeling which he had 
imagined he should experience when, if ever, he 
should come back to the old ancestral place ; there 
was strangeness, a struggle within himself to get hold 
of something that escaped him, an effort to impress 
on his mind the fact that he was, at last, established 
at his temporary home in the place that he had so 
long looked forward to, and that this was the mo- 
ment which he would have thought more interest- 
ing than any other in his life. He was strangely cold 
and indifferent, frozen up as it were, and fancied that 
he would have cared little had he been to leave the 
mansion without so much as looking over the re- 
maining part of it. 

At last, he became weary of sitting and indulging 
this fantastic humor of indifference, and emerged 
from his chamber with the design of finding his way 
about the lower part of the house. The mansion had 
that delightful intricacy which can never be con- 
trived ; never be attained by design ; but is the happy 
result of where many builders, many designs, — many 
ages, perhaps, — have concurred in a structure, each 
pursuing his own design. Thus it was a house that 
you could go astray in, as in a city, and come to un- 
expected places, but never, until after much accus- 
tomance, go where you wished ; so Eedclyffe, although 
the great staircase and wide corridor by which he had 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 285 


been led to his room seemed easy to find, yet soon 
discovered that he was involved in an unknown 
labyrinth, where strange little bits of staircases led 
up and down, and where passages promised much in 
letting him out, but performed nothing. To be sure, 
the old English mansion had not much of the state- 
liness of one of Mrs. Eadcliffe’s castles, with their 
suites of rooms opening one into another ; but yet its 
very domesticity — its look as if long ago it had been 
lived in — made it only the more ghostly ; and so 
Eedclyffe felt the more as if he were wandering 
through a homely dream ; sensible of the ludicrous- 
ness of his position, he once called aloud ; but his 
voice echoed along the passages, sounding unwont- 
edly to his ears, but arousing nobody. It did not 
seem to him as if he were going afar, but were 
bewildered round and round, within a very small 
compass ; a predicament in which a man feels very 
foolish usually. 

As he stood at an old window, stone-mullioned, at 
the end of a passage into which he had come twice 
over, a door near him opened, and a personage looked 
out whom he had not before seen. It was a face of 
great keenness and intelligence, and not unpleasant 
to look at, though dark and sallow. The dress had 
something which Eedclyfie recognized as clerical, 
though not exactly pertaining to the Church of Eng- 
land, — a sort of arrangement of the vest and shirt- 
collar ; and he had knee breeches of black. He did 
not seem like an English clerical personage, however ; 


286 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


for even in this little glimpse of him Eedclyffe saw a 
mildness, gentleness, softness, and asking-of-leave, in 
his manner, which he had not observed in persons so 
well assured of their position as the Church of Eng- 
land clergy. 

He seemed at once to detect Redclyfife’s predica- 
ment, and came forward with a pleasant smile, speak- 
ing in good English, though with a somewhat foreign 
accent. 

Ah, sir, you have lost your way. It is a labyrin- 
thian house for its size, this old English Hall, — full 
of perplexity. Shall I show you to any point ? ’’ 

“ Indeed, sir,” said Eedclyffe, laughing, " I hardly 
know whither I want to go ; being a stranger, and 
yet knowing nothing of the public places of the 
house. To the library, perhaps, if you will be good 
enough to direct me thither.” 

‘‘ Willingly, my dear sir,” said the clerical person- 
age ; the more easily too, as my own quarters are 
close adjacent ; the library being my province. Do 
me the favor to enter here.” 

So saying, the priest ushered Eedclyffe into an 
austere-looking yet exceedingly neat study, as it 
seemed, on one side of which was an oratory, with a 
crucifix and other accommodations for Catholic devo- 
tion. Behind a white curtain there were glimpses of 
a bed, which seemed arranged on a principle of con- 
ventual austerity in respect to limits and lack of 
softness ; but still there was in the whole austerity 
of the premises a certain character of restraint, poise, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET. 287 


principle, which Eedclyffe liked. A table was covered 
with books, many of them folios in an antique bind- 
ing of parchment, and others were small, thick-set 
volumes, into wdiich antique lore was rammed and 
compressed. Through an open door, opposite to the 
one by which he had entered, there was a vista of a 
larger apartment, with alcoves, a rather dreary-looking 
room, though a little sunshine came through a win- 
dow at the further end, distained with colored glass. 

‘'Will you sit down in my little home ? ” said the 
courteous priest. “ I hope we may be better ac- 
quainted ; so allow me to introduce myself. I am 
Father Angelo, domestic chaplain to his Lordship. 
You, I know, are the American diplomatic gentle- 
man, from whom his Lordship has been expecting a 
visit.’’ 

Eedclyffe bowed. 

"I am most happy to know you,” continued the 
priest. " Ah ; you have a happy country, most catho- 
lic, most recipient of all that is outcast on earth. 
Men of my religion must ever bless it.” 

" It certainly ought to be remembered to our 
credit,” replied Eedclyffe, "that we have shown no 
narrow spirit in this matter, and have not, like other 
Protestant countries, rejected the good that is found 
in any man on account of his religious faith. Ameri- 
can statesmanship comprises Jew, Catholic, all.” 

After this pleasant little acknowledgment, there en- 
sued a conversation having some reference to books ; 
for though Eedclyffe, of late years, had known little of 


288 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


what deserves to be called literature, — having found 
political life as much estranged from it as it is apt to 
be with politicians, — yet he had early snuffed the 
musty fragrance of the Doctor’s books, and had learned 
to love its atmosphere. At the time he left college, 
he was just at the point where he might have been 
a scholar ; but the active tendencies of American life 
had interfered with him, as with thousands of others, 
and drawn him away from pursuits which might have 
been better adapted to some of his characteristics than 
the one he had adopted. The priest gently felt and 
touched around his pursuits, and finding some re- 
mains of classic culture, he kept up a conversation 
on these points ; showing him the possessions of the 
library in that department, where, indeed, were some 
treasures that he had discovered, and which seemed 
to have been collected at least a century ago. 

‘‘ Generally, however,” observed he, as they passed 
from one dark alcove to another, the library is of 
little worth, except to show how much of living truth 
each generation contributes to the botheration of life, 
and what a public benefactor a bookworm is, after all. 
There, now ! did you ever happen to see one ? Here 
is one that I have watched at work, some time past, 
and have not thought it worth while to stop him.” 

Eedclyffe looked at the learned little insect, who 
was eating a strange sort of circular trench into an 
old book of scholastic Latin, which probably only he 
had ever devoured, — at least ever found to his taste. 
The insect seemed in excellent condition, fat with 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 289 

learning, having doubtless got the essence of the 
book into himself. But Eedclyffe was still more in- 
terested in observing in the corner a great spider, 
which really startled him, — not so much for its own 
terrible aspect, though that was monstrous, as because 
he seemed to see in it the very great spider which he 
had known in his boyhood ; that same monster that 
had been the Doctor’s familiar, and had been said to 
have had an influence in his death. He looked so 
startled that Bather Angelo observed it. 

“ Do not be frightened,” said he ; though I allow 
that a brave man may well be afraid of a spider, and 
that the bravest of the brave need not blush to shud- 
der at this one. There is a great mystery about this 
spider. Ho one knows whence he came; nor how 
long he has been here. The library was very much 
shut up during the time of the last inheritor of the 
estate, and had not been thoroughly examined for 
some years when I opened it, and swept some of 
the dust away from its old alcoves. I myself was 
not aware of this monster until the lapse of some 
weeks, when I was startled at seeing him, one day, 
as I was reading an old book here. He dangled 
down from the ceiling, by the cordage of his web, 
and positively seemed to look into my face.” 

'' He is of the species Condetas,” said Eedclyffe, — 
" a rare spider seldom seen out of the tropic regions.” 

You are learned, then, in spiders,” observed the 
priest, surprised. 

I could almost make oath, at least, that I have 
19 


290 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET. 


known this ugly specimen of his race,” observed Eed- 
clyffe. “ A very dear friend, now deceased, to whom 
I owed the highest obligations, was studious of spi- 
ders, and his chief treasure was one the very image 
of this.” 

How strange ! ” said the priest. There has al- 
ways appeared to me to be something uncanny in 
spiders. I should be glad to talk further with you 
on this subject. Several times I have fancied a 
strange intelligence in this monster ; but I have 
natural horror of him, and therefore refrain from 
interviews.” 

“ You do wisely, sir,” said Eedclyfife. His powers 
and purposes are questionably beneficent, at best.” 

In truth, the many-legged monster made the old 
library ghostly to him by the associations which it 
summoned up, and by the idea that it was really the 
identical one that had seemed so stuffed with poison, 
in the lifetime of the Doctor, and at that so distant 
spot. Yet, on reflection, it appeared not so strange ; 
for the old Doctor’s spider, as he had heard him say, 
was one of an ancestral race that he had brought from 
beyond the sea. They might have been preserved, 
for ages possibly, in this old library, whence the Doc- 
tor had perhaps taken his specimen, and possibly the 
one now before him was the sole survivor. It hardly, 
however, made the monster any the less hideous to 
suppose that this might be the case ; and to fancy the 
poison of old times condensed into this animal, who 
might have sucked the diseases, moral and physical. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 291 


of all this family into him, and to have made himself 
their demon. He questioned with himself whether 
it might not be well to crush him at once, and so 
perhaps do away with the evil of which he was the 
emblem. 

" I felt a strange disposition to crush this monster 
at first,” remarked the priest, as if he knew what Eed- 
clyffe was thinking of, — ''a feeling that in so doing 
I should get rid of a mischief ; but then he is such 
a curious monster. You cannot long look at him 
without coming to the conclusion that he is inde- 
structible.” 

Yes ; and to think of crushing such a deep-bow- 
elled monster 1 ” said Eedclyffe, shuddering. " It is 
too great a catastrophe.” 

During this conversation in which he was so deeply 
concerned, the spider withdrew himself, and hand over 
hand ascended to a remote and dusky corner, where 
was his hereditary abode. 

Shall I be likely to meet Lord Braithwaite here 
in the library ? ” asked Eedclyffe, when the fiend had 
withdrawn himself. " I have not yet seen him since 
my arrival.” 

''I trust,” said the priest, with great courtesy, 
‘‘that you are aware of some peculiarities in his 
Lordship's habits, which imply nothing in detriment 
to the great respect which he pays all his few guests, 
and which, I know, he is especially desirous to pay 
to you. I think that we shall meet him at lunch, 
which, though an English institution, his Lordship 
‘has adopted very readily.'’ 


292 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

I should hope/' said Eedclyffe, willing to know 
how far he might be expected to comply with the 
peculiarities — which might prove to be eccentricities 
— of his host, “that my presence here will not be too 
greatly at variance with his Lordship's habits, what- 
ever they may be. I came hither, indeed, on the 
pledge that, as my host would not stand in my way, 
so neither would I in his." 

“ That is the true principle," said the priest, “ and 
here comes his Lordship in person to begin the prac- 
tice of it." 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 293 


CHAPTEE XXIL 

Lokd Braithwaite came into the principal door 
of the library as the priest was speaking, and stood a 
moment just upon the threshold, looking keenly out 
of the stronger light into this dull and darksome 
apartment, as if unable to see perfectly what was with- 
in ; or rather, as Eedclyffe fancied, trying to discover 
what was passing between those two. And, indeed, 
as when a third person comes suddenly upon two 
who are talking of him, the two generally evince in 
their manner some consciousness of the fact ; so it 
was in this case, with Eedclyffe at least, although 
the priest seemed perfectly undisturbed, either through 
practice of concealment, or because he had nothing to 
conceal. 

His Lordship, after a moment’s pause, came for- 
ward, presenting his hand to Eedclyffe, who shook it, 
and not without a certain cordiality ; till he per- 
ceived that it was the left hand, vrhen he probably 
intimated some surprise by a change of manner. 

''I am an awkward person,” said his Lordship. 

The left hand, however, is nearest the heart ; so be 
assured I mean no discourtesy.” 

“The Signor Ambassador and myself,” observed 
the priest, “ have had a most interesting conversation 


294 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


(to me at least) about books and bookworms, spiders, 
and other congruous matters ; and I find his Excel- 
lency has heretofore made acquaintance with a great 
spider bearing strong resemblance to the hermit of 
our library/' 

Indeed,” said his Lordship. I was not aware 
that America had yet enough of age and old mis- 
fortune, crime, sordidness, that accumulate with it, 
to have produced spiders like this. Had he sucked 
into himself all the noisomeness of your heat ? ” 
Eedclyffe made some slight answer, that the spider 
was a sort of pet of an old virtuoso to whom he owed 
many obligations in his boyhood ; and the conversa- 
tion turned from this subject to others suggested by 
topics of the day and place. His Lordship was affa- 
ble, and Eedclyffe could not, it must be confessed, 
see anything to justify the prejudices of the neigh- 
bors against him. Indeed, he was inclined to attrib- 
ute them, in great measure, to the narrowness of the 
English view, — to those insular prejudices which have 
always prevented them from fully appreciating what 
differs from their own habits. At lunch, which was 
soon announced, the party of three became very 
pleasant and sociable, his Lordship drinking a light 
Italian red wine, and recommending it to Eedclyffe ; 
who, however, was English enough to prefer some 
bitter ale, while the priest contented himself with 
pure water, — which is, in truth, a less agreeable 
drink in chill, moist England than in any country we 
are acquainted with. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 295 


"You must make yourself quite at home here/’ 
said his Lordship, as they rose from table. " I am 
not a good host, nor a very genial man, I believe. I 
can do little to entertain you ; but here is the house 
and the grounds at your disposal, — horses in the 
stable, — guns in the hall, — here is Father Angelo, 
good at chess. There is the library. Pray make the 
most of them all ; and if I can contribute in any way 
to your pleasure, let me know.” 

All this certainly seemed cordial, and the manner 
in which it was said seemed in accordance with the 
spirit of the words ; and yet, whether the fault was 
in anything of morbid suspicion in Eedclyffe’s nature, 
or whatever it was, it did not have the effect of mak- 
ing him feel welcome, which almost every English- 
man has the natural faculty of producing on a guest, 
when once he has admitted him beneath his roof. It 
might be in great measure his face, so thin and re- 
fined, and intellectual without feeling ; his voice 
which had melody, but not heartiness ; his manners, 
which were not simple by nature, but by art; — 
whatever it w’as, Eedclyffe found that Lord Braith- 
waite did not call for his own naturalness and sim- 
plicity, but his art, and felt that he was inevitably 
acting a part in his intercourse with him, that he 
was on his guard, playing a game ; and yet he did 
not' wish to do this. But there was a mobility, a 
subtleness in his nature, an unconscious tact, — which 
the mode of Efe and of mixing with men in America 
fosters and perfects, — that made this sort of finesse 


296 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 


inevitable to him, with any but a natural character ; 
with whom, on the other hand, Eedclyffe could be as 
fresh and natural as any Englishman of them all. 

Eedclyffe spent the time between lunch and dinner 
in wandering about the grounds, from which he had 
hitherto felt himself debarred by motives of delicacy, 
It was a most interesting ramble to him, coming to 
trees which his ancestor, who went to America, might 
have climbed in his boyhood, might have sat beneath, 
with his lady-love, in his youth ; deer there were, the 
descendants of those which he had seen ; old stone 
stiles, which his foot had trodden. The sombre, 
clouded light of the day fell dowm upon this scene, 
which in its verdure, its luxuriance of vegetable life, 
was purely English, cultivated to the last extent 
without losing the nature out of a single thing. In 
the course of his walk he came to the spot where he 
had been so mysteriously wounded on his first arrival 
in this region ; and, examining the spot, he was star- 
tled to see that there was a path leading to the other 
side of a hedge, and this path, which led to the house, 
had brought him here. 

Musing upon this mysterious circumstance, and 
how it should have happened in so orderly a country 
as England, so tamed and subjected to civilization, — 
an incident to happen in an English park which 
seemed better suited to the Indian-haunted forests of 
the wilder parts of his own land, — and how no re- 
searches which the Warden had instituted had served 
in the smallest degree to develop the mystery, — he 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 297 


clambered over the hedge, and followed the foot- 
path. It plunged into dells, and emerged from them, 
led through scenes which seemed those of old ro- 
mances, and at last, by these devious ways, began to 
approach the old house, which, with its many gray 
gables, put on a new aspect from this point of view. 
EedclyfPe admired its venerableness anew; the ivy 
that overran parts of it; the marks of age; and 
wondered at the firmness of the institutions which, 
through all the changes that come to man, could have 
kept this house the home of one lineal race for so 
many centuries ; so many, that the absence of his 
own branch from it seemed but a temporary visit to 
foreign parts, from which he was now returned, to be 
again at home, by the old hearthstone. 

‘'But what do I mean to do said he to himself, 
stopping short, and still looking at the old house. 
“ Am I ready to give up all the actual life before me 
for the sake of taking up with w^hat I feel to be a less 
developed state of human life ? Would it not be better 
for me to depart now, to turn my back on this flatter- 
ing prospect ? I am not fit to be here, — I, so strongly 
susceptible of a newer, more stirring life than these 
men lead ; I, who feel that, whatever the thought and 
cultivation of England may be, my own countrymen 
have gone forward a long, long march beyond them, 
not intellectually, but in a way that gives them a 
further start. If I come back hither, with the pur- 
pose to make myself an Englishman, especially an 
Englishman of rank and hereditary estate, — then for 


298 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


me America has been discovered in vain, and the 
great spirit that has been breathed into us is in vain ; 
and 1 am false to it all ! ” 

But again came silently swelling over him like a 
flood all that ancient peace, and quietude, and dig- 
nity, which looked so stately and beautiful as brood- 
ing round the old house; all that blessed order of 
ranks, that sweet superiority, and yet with no dis- 
claimer of common brotherhood, that existed between 
the English gentleman and his inferiors ; all that 
delightful intercourse, so sure of pleasure, so safe 
from rudeness, lowness, unpleasant rubs, that exists 
between gentleman and gentleman, where, in public 
affairs, all are essentially of one mind, or seem so to 
an American politician, accustomed to the fierce con- 
flicts of our embittered parties ; where life was made 
so enticing, so refined, and yet with a sort of homeli- 
ness that seemed to show that all its strength was 
left behind ; that seeming taking in of all that was 
desirable in life, and all its grace and beauty, yet 
never giving life a hard enamel of over-refinement. 
What could there be in the wild, harsh, ill-conducted 
American approach to civilization, which could com- 
pare with this ? What to compare with this juiciness 
and richness ? What other men had ever got so much 
out of Hfe as the polished and wealthy Englishmen 
of to-day ? What higher part was to be acted, than 
seemed to lie before him, if he willed to accept it ? 

He resumed his walk, and, drawing near the manor- 
house, found that he was approaching another en- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 299 


trance than that which had at first admitted him; 
a very pleasant entrance it was, beneath a porch, of 
antique form, and ivy-clad, hospitable and inviting ; 
and it being the approach from the grounds, it seemed 
to be more appropriate to the residents of the house 
than the other one. Drawing near, Eedclyffe saw 
that a flight of steps ascended within the porch, old- 
looking, much worn ; and nothing is more suggestive 
of long time than a flight of worn steps ; it must have 
taken so many soles, through so many years, to make 
an impression. Judging from the make of the out- 
side of the edifice, Eedclyffe thought that he could 
make out the way from the porch to the hall and 
library ; so he determined to enter this way. 

There had been, as was not unusual, a little shower 
of rain during the afternoon ; and as Eedclyffe came 
close to the steps, they were glistening with the wet. 
The stones were w^hitish, like marble, and one of them 
bore on it a token that made him pause, while a thrill 
like terror ran through his system. For it was the 
mark of a footstep, very decidedly made out, and red, 
like blood, — the Bloody Footstep, — the mark of a 
foot, which seemed to have been slightly impressed 
into the rock, as if it had been a soft substance, at 
the same time sliding a little, and gushing with blood. 
The glistening moisture of which we have spoken 
made it appear as if it were just freshly stamped 
there ; and it suggested to Eedclyffe’s fancy the idea, 
that, impressed more than two centuries ago, there 
was some charm connected with the mark which kept 


300 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


it still fresh, and would continue to do so to the end 
of time. It was well that there was no spectator 
there, — for the American would have blushed to 
have it known how much this old traditionary ven- 
der had affected his imagination. But, indeed, it was 
as old as any bugbear of his mind — as any of those 
bugbears and private terrors which grow up with peo- 
ple, and make the dreams and nightmares of child- 
hood, and the fever-images of mature years, till they 
haunt the deliriums of the dying bed, and after that, 
possibly, are either realized or known no more. The 
Doctor’s strange story vividly recurred to him, and 
all the horrors which he had since associated with 
this trace ; and it seemed to him as if he had now 
struck upon a bloody track, and as if there were other 
tracks of this supernatural foot which he was bound 
to search out; removing the dust of ages that had 
settled on them, the moss and deep grass that had 
grown over them, the forest leaves that might have 
fallen on them in America — marking out the path- 
way, till the pedestrian lay down in his grave. 

The foot was issuing from, not entering into, the 
house. Whoever had impressed it, or on whatever 
occasion, he had gone forth, and doubtless to return 
no more. Eedclyffe was impelled to place his own 
foot on the track ; and the action, as it were, suggest- 
ed in itself strange ideas of what had been the state 
of mind of the man who planted it there ; and he felt 
a strange, vague, yet strong surmise of some agony, 
some terror and horror, that had passed here, and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWKS SECRET 301 


would not fade out of the spot. While he was in 
these musings, he saw Lord Braithwaite looking at 
him through the glass of the porch, with fixed, curious 
eyes, and a smile on his face. On perceiving that 
Eedclyffe was aware of his presence, he came forth 
without appearing in the least disturbed. 

What think you of the Bloody Footstep ? ” asked 
he. 

‘"It seems to me, undoubtedly,” said Eedclyffe, 
stooping to examine it more closely, “ a good thing to 
make a legend out of ; and, like most legendary lore, 
not capable of bearing close examination. I should 
decidedly say that the Bloody Footstep is a natural 
reddish stain in the stone.” 

“ Do you think so, indeed ? ” rejoined his Lordship. 
“ It may be ; but in that case, if not the record of an 
actual deed, — of a foot stamped down there in guilt 
and agony, and oozing out with unwipeupable blood, 
— we may consider it as prophetic; — as forebod- 
ing, from the time when the stone was squared and 
smootlied, and laid at this threshold, that a fatal foot- 
step was really to be impressed here.” 

“ It is an ingenious supposition,” said Eedclyffe. 
“ But is there any sure knowledge that the prophecy 
you suppose has yet been fulfilled ? ” 

“ If not, it might yet be in the future,” said Lord 
Braithwaite. “ But I think there are enough in the 
records of this family to prove that there did one cross 
this threshold in a bloody agony, who has since re- 
turned no more. Great seekings, I have understood. 


302 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


have been had throughout the world for him, or for 
any sign of him, but nothing satisfactory has been 
heard." 

And it is now too late to expect it," observed the 
American. 

Perhaps not,” replied the nobleman, with a glance 
that Eedclyffe thought had peculiar meaning in it. 

Ah ! it is very curious to see what turnings up there 
are in this world of old circumstances that seem 
buried forever; how things come back, like echoes 
that have rolled away among the hills and been seem- 
ingly hushed forever. We cannot tell when a thing 
is really dead; it comes to life, perhaps in its old 
shape, perhaps in a new and unexpected one ; so that 
nothing really vanishes out of the world. I wish it 
did." 

The conversation now ceased, and Eedclyffe entered 
the house, where he amused himself for some time in 
looking at the ancient hall, with its gallery, its armor, 
and its antique fireplace, on the hearth of which 
burned a genial fire. He wondered whether in that 
fire was the continuance of that custom which the 
Doctor’s legend spoke of, and that the flame had been 
kept up there two hundred years, in expectation of 
the wanderer’s return. It might be so, although the 
climate of England made it a natural custom enough, 
in a large and damp old room, into which many doors 
opened, both from the exterior and interior of the 
mansion ; but it was pleasant to think the custom a 
traditionary one, and to fancy that a booted figure. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHA WE^S SECRET. 303 


enveloped in a cloak, might still arrive, and fling open 
the veiling cloak, throw off the sombre and drooping- 
hrimmed hat, and show features that were similar to 
those seen in pictured faces on the walls. Was he 
himself — in another guise, as Lord Braithwaite had 
been saying — that long-expected one ? Was his the 
echoing tread that had been heard so long through the 
ages — so far through the wide world — approaching 
the blood-stained threshold ? 

With such thoughts, or dreams (for they were hardly 
sincerely enough entertained to be called thoughts), 
Eedclyffe spent the day ; a strange, delicious day, in 
spite of the sombre shadows that enveloped it. He 
fancied himself strangely wonted, already, to the house ; 
as if his every part and peculiarity had at once fitted 
into its nooks, and corners, and crannies ; but, indeed, 
his mobile nature and active fancy were not entirely 
to be trusted in this matter; it was, perhaps, his 
American faculty of making himself at home any- 
where, that he mistook for the feeling of being peculi- 
arly at home here. 


304 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


CHAPTEK XXIIL 

Eedclyffe was now established in the great house 
which had been so long and so singularly an object of 
interest with him. With his customary impressibility 
by the influences around him, he begun to take in the 
circumstances, and to understand them by more sub- 
tile tokens than he could well explain to himself. 
There was the steward,^ or whatever was his precise 
office ; so quiet, so subdued, so nervous, so strange ! 
What had been this man's history ? What was now 
the secret of his daily life ? There he was, creeping 
stealthily up and down the staircases, and about the 
passages of the house ; always as if he were afraid of 
meeting somebody. On seeing Eedclyffe in the house, 
the latter fancied that the man expressed a kind of 
interest in his face ; but whether pleasure or pain he 
could not well tell ; only he sometimes found that he 
was contemplating him from a distance, or from the 
obscurity of the room in which he sat, — or from a 
corridor, while he smoked his cigar on the lawn. A 
great part, if not the whole of this, he imputed to his 
knowledge of Eedclyffe's connections with the Doctor ; 
but yet this hardly seemed sufficient to account for 
the pertinacity with which the old man haunted his 
footsteps, — the poor, nervous old thing, — always 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 305 


near him, or often unexpectedly so ; and yet appar- 
ently not very willing to hold conversation with him, 
having nothing of importance to say. 

Mr. Omskirk,’' said Eedclyffe to him, a day or two 
after the commencement of his visit, ''how many 
years have you now been in this situation ? 

"0, sir, ever since the Doctor’s departure for 
America,” said Omskirk, " now thirty and five years, 
five months, and three days.” 

" A long time,” said Eedclyffe, smiling, " and you 
seem to keep the account of it very accurately.” 

" A very long time, your honor,” said Omskirk ; 
'' so long, that I seem to have lived one life before it 
began, and I cannot think of any life than just what 
I had. My life was broken off short in the midst ; 
and what belonged to the earlier part of it was an- 
other man’s life ; this is mine.” 

" It might be a pleasant life enough, I should think, 
in this fine old Hall,” said Eedclyffe ; " rather monot- 
onous, however. Would you not like a relaxation 
of a few days, a pleasure trip, in all these thirty-five 
years ? You old Englishmen are so sturdily faithful 
to one thing. You do not resemble my countrymen 
in that.” 

" 0, none of them ever lived in an old mansion- 
house like this,” replied Omskirk, " they do not know 
the sort of habits that a man gets here. They do not 
know my business either, nor any man’s here.” 

" Is your master then, so difficult ? ” said Eedclyffe. 

"My master! Who was speaking of him?” said 
20 


306 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


the old man, as if surprised. "‘Ah, I was think- 
ing of Dr. Grimshawe. He was my master, you 
know.” 

And Eedclyffe was again inconceivably struck with 
the strength of the impression that was made on the 
poor old man's mind by the character of the old Doc- 
tor; so that, after thirty years of other service, he 
still felt him to be the master, and could not in the 
least release himself from those earlier bonds. He 
remembered a story that the Doctor used to tell of 
his once recovering a hanged person, and more and 
more came to the conclusion that this was the man ; 
and that, as the Doctor had said, this hold of a strong 
mind over a weak one, strengthened by the idea that 
he had made him, had subjected the man to him in a 
kind of slavery that embraced the soul. 

And then, again, the lord of the estate interested 
him greatly, and not unpleasantly. He compared 
what he seemed to be now with what, according to 
all reports, he had been in the past, and could make 
nothing of it, nor reconcile the two characters in the 
least. It seemed as if the estate were possessed by 
a devil, — a foul and melancholy fiend, — who re- 
sented the attempted possession of others by sub- 
jecting them to himself One had turned from quiet 
and sober habits to reckless dissipation; another 
had turned from the usual gayety of life to recluse 
habits, and both, apparently, by the same influence ; 
at least, so it appeared to Eedclyffe, as he insu- 
lated their story from all other circumstances, and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 307 


looked at them by one light. He even thought that 
he felt a similar influence coming over himself, even 
in this little time that he had spent here ; gradually, 
should this be his permanent residence, — and not 
so very gradually either, — there would come its own 
individual mode of change over him. That quick 
suggestive mind would gather the moss and lichens 
of decay. Palsy of its powers would probably be the 
form it would assume. He looked back through the 
vanished years to the time which he had spent with 
the old Doctor, and he felt unaccountably as if the 
mysterious old man were yet ruling him, as he did in 
his boyhood ; as if his inscrutable, inevitable eye were 
upon him in all his movements ; nay, as if he had 
guided every step that he took in coming hither, and 
were stalking mistily before him, leading him about. 
He sometimes would gladly have given up all these 
wild and enticing prospects, these dreams that had 
occupied him so long, if he could only have gone 
away and looked back upon the house, its inmates, 
and his own recollections no more ; but there came a 
fate, and took the shape of the old Doctor's appari- 
tion, holding him back. 

And then, too, the thought of Elsie had much influ- 
ence in keeping him quietly here ; her natural sun- 
shine was the one thing that, just now, seemed to 
have a good influence upon the world. She, too, was 
evidently connected with this place, and with the 
fate, whatever it might be, that awaited him here. 
The Doctor, the ruler of his destiny, had provided 


308 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET. 


her as well as all the rest ; and from his grave, or 
wherever he was, he still seemed to bring them to- 
gether. 

So here, in this darkened dream, he waited for 
what should come to pass ; and daily, when he sat 
down in the dark old library, it was with the thought 
that this day might bring to a close the doubt amid 
which he lived, — might give him the impetus to go 
forward. In such a state, no doubt, the witchcraft of 
the place was really to be recognized, the old witch- 
craft, too, of the Doctor, which he had escaped by the 
quick ebullition of youthful spirit, long ago, while 
the Doctor lived ; but which had been stored up till 
now, till an influence that remained latent for years 
had worked out in active disease. He held himself 
open for intercourse with the lord of the mansion ; 
and intercourse of a certain nature they certainly had, 
but not of the kind which Eedclyffe desired. They 
talked together of politics, of the state of the rela- 
tions between England and America, of the court to 
which Eedclyffe was accredited; sometimes Eedclyffe 
tried to lead the conversation to the family topics, 
nor, in truth, did Lord Braithwaite seem to decline 
his lead ; although it was observable that very speed- 
ily the conversation would be found turned upon 
some other subject, to which it had swerved aside by 
subtle underhand movements. Yet Eedclyffe was 
not the less determined, and at no distant period, to 
bring up the subject on which his mind dwelt so 
much, and have it fairly discussed between them. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHA^WE^S SECRET, 309 


He was sometimes a little frightened at the posi- 
tion and circumstances in which he found himself ; a 
great disturbance there was in his being, the causes 
of which he could not trace. It had an influence on 
his dreams, through which the Doctor seemed to pass 
continually, and when he awoke it was often with 
the sensation that he had just the moment before 
been holding conversation with the old man, and that 
the latter — with that gesture of power that he re- 
membered so well — had been impressing some com- 
mand upon him ; but what that command was, he 
could not possibly call to mind. He wandered among 
the dark passages of the house, and up its antique 
staircases, as if expecting at every turn to meet some 
one who would have the word of destiny to say to 
him. When he went forth into the park, it was as 
if to hold an appointment with one who had promised 
to meet him there ; and he came slowly back, linger- 
ing and loitering, because this expected one had not 
yet made himself visible, yet plucked up a little 
alacrity as he drew near the house, because the com- 
municant might have arrived in his absence, and be 
waiting for him in the dim library. It seemed as if 
he was under a spell ; he could neither go away nor 
rest, — nothing but dreams, troubled dreams. He had 
ghostly fears, as if some one were near him whom he 
could not make out ; stealing behind him, and start- 
ing away when he was impelled to turn round. A 
nervousness that his healthy temperament had never 
before permitted him to be the victim of, assailed 


310 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


him now. He could not help imputing it partly to 
the influence of the generations who had left a por- 
tion of their individual human nature in the house, 
which had become magnetic by them and could not 
rid itself of their presence in one sense, though, in 
another, they had borne it as far off as to where the 
gray tower of the village church rose above their 
remains. 

Again, he was frightened to perceive what a hold 
the place was getting upon him ; how the tendrils of 
the ivy seemed to hold him and would not let him 
go ; how natural and homelike (grim and sombre as 
they were) the old doorways and apartments were 
becoming ; how in no place that he had ever known 
had he had such a home-like feeling. To be sure, 
poor fellow, he had no earlier home except the alms- 
house, where his recollection of a fireside crowded by 
grim old women and pale, sickly children, of course 
never allowed him to have the reminiscences of a 
private, domestic home. But then there was the 
Doctor’s home by the graveyard, and little Elsie, his 
constant playmate? No, even those recollections did 
not hold him like this heavy present circumstance. 
How should he ever draw himself away? No; the 
proud and vivid and active prospects that had here- 
tofore spread themselves before him, — the striving to 
conquer, the struggle, the victory, the defeat, if such 
it was to be, — the experiences for good or ill, — the 
life, life, life, — all possibility of these was passing 
from him ; all that hearty earnest contest or com- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 311 


munion of man with man ; and leaving him nothing 
but this great sombre shade, this brooding of the 
old family mansion, with its dreary ancestral hall, its 
mouldy dignity, its life of the past, its fettering 
honor, which to accept must bind him hand and foot, 
as respects all effort, such as he had trained himself 
for, — such as his own country offered. It was not 
any value for these, — as it seemed to Eedclyffe, — 
but a witchcraft, an indefinable spell, a something 
that he could not define, that enthralled him, and 
was now doing a work on him analogous to, though 
different from, that which was wrought on Omskirk 
and all the other inhabitants, high and low, of this 
old mansion. 

He felt greatly interested in the master of the 
mansion; although perhaps it was not from anything 
in his nature ; but partly because he conceived that 
he himself had a controlling power over his fortunes, 
and likewise from the vague perception of this before- 
mentioned trouble in him. It seemed, whatever it 
might be, to have converted an ordinary superficial 
man of the world into a being that felt and suffered 
inwardly, had pangs, fears, a conscience, a sense of 
unseen things. It seemed as if underneath this 
manor-house were the entrance to the cave of Tro- 
phonius, one visit to which made a man sad forever 
after ; and that Lord Braithwaite had been there once, 
or perhaps went nightly, or at any hour. Or the 
mansion itself was like dark-colored experience, the 
reality ; the point of view where things were seen in 


312 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


their true lights ; the true world, all outside of which 
was delusion, and here — dreamlike as its structures 
seemed — the absolute truth. All those that lived 
*in it w’ere getting to he a brotherhood; and he 
among them; and perhaps before the blood-stained 
threshold would grow up an impassable barrier, 
which would cause himself to sit down in dreary 
quiet, like the rest of them. 

Eedclyffe, as has been intimated, had an unavowed 
— unavowed to himself — suspicion that the master 
of the house cherished no kindly purpose towards 
him; he had an indistinct feeling of danger from 
him ; he would not have been surprised to know 
that he was concocting a plot against his life ; and 
yet he did not think that Lord Braithwaite had the 
slightest hostility towards him. It might make the 
thing more horrible, perhaps ;^but it has been often 
seen in those who poison for the sake of interest, 
without feelings of personal malevolence, that they 
do it as kindly as the nature of the thing will permit ; 
they, possibly, may even have a certain degree of affec- 
tion for their victims, enough to induce them to make 
the last hours of life sweet and pleasant ; to wind up 
the fever of life with a double supply of enjoyable 
throbs ; to sweeten and delicately flavor the cup of 
death that they offer to the lips of him whose life is 
inconsistent with some stated necessity of their own. 

Dear friend,” such a one might say to the friend 
wLom he reluctantly condemned to death, think not 
that there is any base malice^ any desire of pain to 


DOCTOR GBIMSHAWE^S SECRET 313 


thee, that actuates me in this thing. Heaven knows, 
I earnestly wish thy good. But I have well consid- 
ered the matter, — more deeply than thou hast, — and 
have found that it is essential that one thing should 
he, and essential to that thing that thou, my friend, 
shouldst die. Is that a doom which even thou wouldst 
object to with such an end to be answered ? Thou art 
innocent ; thou art not a man of evil life ; the worst 
thing that can come of it, so far as thou art concerned, 
would be a quiet, endless repose in yonder church- 
yard, among dust of thy ancestry, with the English 
violets growing over thee there, and the green, sweet 
grass, which thou wilt not scorn to associate with thy 
dissolving elements, remembering that thy forefather 
owed a debt, for his own birth and growth, to this 
English soil, and paid it not, — consigned himself to 
that rough soil of another clime, under the forest 
leaves. Pay it, dear friend, without repining, and 
leave me to battle a little longer with this trouble- 
some world, and in a few years to rejoin thee, and 
talk quietly over this matter which we are now ar- 
ranging. How slight a favor, then, for one friend to 
do another, will seem this that I seek of thee.” 

Eedclyffe smiled to himself, as he thus gave expres- 
sion to what he really half fancied were Lord Braith- 
waite's feelings and purposes towards him, and he felt 
them in the kindness and sweetness of his demeanor, 
and his evident wish to make him happy, combined 
with his own subtile suspicion of some design with 
which he had been invited here, or which had grown 
up since he came. 


314 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


Whoever has read Italian history must have seen 
such instances of this poisoning without malice or 
personal ill-feeling. 

His own pleasant, companionable, perhaps noble 
traits and qualities, may have made a favorable im- 
pression on Lord Braithwaite, and perhaps he regret- 
ted the necessity of acting as he was about to do, but 
could not therefore weakly relinquish his deliberately 
formed design. And, on his part, Eedclyfife bore no 
malice towards Lord Braithwaite, but felt really a 
kindly interest in him, and could he have made him 
happy at any less cost than his own life, or dearest 
interests, would perhaps have been glad to do so. He 
sometimes felt inclined to remonstrate with him in a 
friendly way ; to tell him that his intended course 
was not likely to lead to a good result ; that they had 
better try to arrange the matter on some other basis, 
and perhaps he would not find the American so un- 
reasonable as he supposed. 

All this, it will be understood, were the mere 
dreamy suppositions of Eedclyffe, in the idleness and 
languor of the old mansion, letting his mind run at 
will, and following it into dim caves, whither it tended. 
He did not actually believe anything of all this ; un- 
less it be a lawyer, or a policeman, or some very vulgar 
natural order of mind, no man really suspects another 
of crime. It is the hardest thing in the world for a 
noble nature — the hardest and the most shocking — 
to be convinced that a fellow-being is going to do a 
wrong thing, and the consciousness of one’s own in- 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 315 


violability renders it still more difficult to believe 
that one’s self is to be the object of the wrong. 
What he had been fanc3dng looked to him like a 
romance. The strange part of the matter was, what 
suggested such a romance in regard to his kind and 
hospitable host, who seemed to exercise the hospital- 
ity of England with a kind of refinement and pleas- 
ant piquancy that came from his Italian mixture of 
blood ? Was there no spiritual whisper here ? 

So the time wore on ; and Eedclyffe began to be 
sensible that he must soon decide upon the course 
that he was to take ; for his diplomatic position wait- 
ed for him, and he could not loiter many days more 
away in this half delicious, half painful reverie and 
quiet in the midst of his struggling life. He was 
yet as undetermined what to do as ever ; or, if we 
may come down to the truth, he was perhaps loath 
to acknowledge to himself the determination that he 
had actually formed. 

One day, at dinner, which now came on after 
candle-light, he and Lord Braithwaite sat together 
at table, as usual, while Omskirk waited at the side- 
board. It was a wild, gusty night, in which an au- 
tumnal breeze of later autumn seemed to have gone 
astray, and come into September intrusively. The 
two friends — for such we may call them — had spent 
a pleasant day together, wandering in the grounds, 
looking at the old house at all points, going to the 
church, and examining the cross-legged stone statues ; 
they had ridden, too, and taken a great deal of health- 


316 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

ful exercise, and had now that pleasant sense of just 
weariness enough which it is the boon of the climate 
of England to incite and permit men to take. Eed- 
clyffe was in one of his most genial moods, and Lord 
Braithwaite seemed to he the same ; so kindly they 
were both disposed to one another, that the American 
felt that he might not longer refrain from giving his 
friend some light upon the character in which he 
appeared, or in which, at least, he had it at his option 
to appear. Lord Braithwaite might or might not 
know it already ; but at all events it was his duty 
to tell him, or to take his leave, having thus far nei- 
ther gained nor sought anything from their connec- 
tion which would tend to forward his pursuit — 
should he decide to undertake it. 

When the cheerful fire, the rare wine, and the 
good fare had put them both into a good physical 
state, Eedclyffe said to Lord Braithwaite, — 

There is a matter upon which I have been some 
time intending to speak to you.” 

Braithwaite nodded. 

A subject,” continued he, ‘"of interest to both of 
us. Has it ever occurred to you, from the identity 
of name, that I may be really, what we have jokingly 
assumed me to be, — a relation ? ” 

“It has,” said Lord Braithwaite, readily enough. 
“The family would be proud to acknowledge such 
a kinsman, whose abilities and political rank would 
add a public lustre that it has long wanted.” 
Eedclyffe bowed and smiled. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 317 


You know, I suppose, the annals of your house,’' 
he continued, "‘and have heard how, two centuries 
ago, or somewhat less, there was an ancestor who 
mysteriously disappeared. He was never seen again. 
There were tales of private murder, out of which a 
hundred legends have come down to these days, as I 
have myself found, though most of them in so strange 
a shape that I should hardly know them, had I not 
myself a clue.” 

" I have heard some of these legends,” said Lord 
Braithwaite. 

But did you ever hear, among them,” asked Eed- 
clyffe, that the lost ancestor did not really die, — 
was not murdered, — hut lived long, though in an- 
other hemisphere, — lived long, and left heirs behind 
him ? ” 

There is such a legend,” said Lord Braithwaite. 

Left posterity,” continued Eedclyffe, — a repre- 
sentative of whom is alive at this day.” 

That I have not known, though I might conjec- 
ture something like it,” said Braithwaite. 

The coolness with which he took this perplexed 
Eedclyffe. He resolved to make trial at once whether 
it were possible to move him. 

“ And I have reason to believe,” he added, that 
that representative is myself.” 

‘‘Should that prove to be the case, you are wel- 
come back to your own,” said Lord Braithwaite, 
quietly. “ It will be a very remarkable case, if the 
proofs for two hundred years, or thereabouts, can be 


318 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 

SO distinctly made out as to nullify the claim of one 
whose descent is undoubted. Yet it is certainly not 
impossible. I suppose it would hardly be fair in me 
to ask what are your proofs, and whether I may see 
them.'' 

The documents are in the hands of my agents in 
London," replied Eedclyffe ; and seem to be ample, 
among them being a certified genealogy from the first 
emigrant downward, without a break. A declaration 
of two men of note among the first settlers, certify- 
ing that they knew the first emigrant, under a change 
of name, to be the eldest son of the house of Braith- 
waite ; full proofs, at least on that head." 

“You are a lawyer, I believe," said Braithwaite, 
“ and know better than I what may be necessary to 
prove your claim. I will frankly own to you, that I 
have heard, long ago, — as long as when my connec- 
tion with this hereditary property first began, — that 
there was supposed to be an heir extant for a long 
course of years, and that there was no proof that that 
main line of the descent had ever become extinct. 
If these things had come fairly before me, and been 
represented to me with whatever force belongs to 
them, before my accession to the estate, — these and 
other facts which I have since become acquainted 
with, — I might have deliberated on the expediency 
of coming to such a doubtful possession. The prop- 
erty, I assure you, is not so desirable that, taking all 
things into consideration, it has much increased my 
happiness. But, now, here I am, having paid a price 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 319 


in a certain way, — which you will understand, if 
you ever come into the property, — a price of a na- 
ture that cannot possibly be refunded. It can hardly 
be presumed that I shall see your right a moment 
sooner than you make it manifest by law.” 

I neither expect nor wish it,” replied Eedclyflfe, 
nor, to speak frankly, am I quite sure that you will 
ever have occasion to defend your title, or to question 
mine. When I came hither, to be your guest, it was 
almost with the settled purpose never to mention 
my proofs, nor to seek to make them manifest. That 
purpose is not, I may say, yet relinquished.” 

‘‘Yet I am to infer from your words that it is 
shaken?” said Braithwaite. “You find the estate, 
then, so delightful, — this life of the old manor-house 
so exquisitely agreeable, — this air so cheering, — 
this moral atmosphere so invigorating, — that your 
scruples are about coming to an end. You think 
this life of an Englishman, this fair prospect of a 
title, so irresistibly enticing as to be worth more 
than your claim, in behalf of your American birth- 
right, to a possible Presidency.” 

There was a sort of sneer in this, which Eedclyffe 
did not well know how to understand; and there 
was a look on Braithwaite’s face, as he said it, that 
made him think of a condemned soul, who should be 
dressed in magnificent robes, and surrounded with the 
mockery of state, splendor, and happiness, who, if he 
should be congratulated on his fortunate and blissful 
situation, would probably wear just such a look, and 


320 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWTPS SECRET. 


speak in just that tone. He looked a moment in 
Braitliwaite's face. 

he replied. ^'1 do not think that there is 
much happiness in it. A brighter, healthier, more 
useful, far more satisfactory, though tumultuous life 
would await me in my own country. But there is 
about this place a strange, deep, sad, brooding interest, 
which possesses me, and draws me to it, and will not 
let me go. I feel as if, in spite of myself and my 
most earnest efforts, I were fascinated by something 
in the spot, and must needs linger here, and make it 
my home if I can.” 

"‘You shall be welcome; the old hereditary chair 
will be filled at last,” said Braithwaite, pointing to 
the vacant chair. “ Come, we will drink to you in a 
cup of welcome. Take the old chair now.” 

In half-frolic Eedclyffe took the chair. 

He called to Omskirk to bring a bottle of a par- 
ticularly exquisite Italian wine, known only to the 
most deeply skilled in the vintages of that country, 
and which, he said, was oftener heard of than seen, — 
oftener seen than tasted. Omskirk put it on the 
table in its original glass, and Braithwaite filled Eed- 
clyffe’s glass and his own, and raised the latter to his 
lips, with a frank expression of his mobile counte- 
nance. 

"" May you have a secure possession of your estate,” 
said he, “ and live long in the midst of your posses- 
sions. To me, on the whole, it seems better than your 
American prospects.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET. 321 


Eedclyffe thanked him, and drank off the glass of 
wine, which was not very much to his taste ; as new 
varieties of wine are apt not to be. All the conver- 
sation that had passed had been in a free, careless sort 
of way, without apparently much earnestness in it ; 
for they were both men who knew how to keep their 
more serious parts within them. But Eedclyffe was 
glad that the explanation was over, and that he 
might now remain at Braithwaite’s table, under his 
roof, without that uneasy feeling of treachery which, 
whether rightly or not, had haunted him hitherto. 
He felt joyous, and stretched his hand out for the 
bottle which Braithwaite kept near himself, instead 
of passing it. 

You do not yourself do justice to your own favor- 
ite wine,” observed Eedclyffe, seeing his host’s full 
glass standing before him. 

I have filled again,” said Braithwaite, carelessly ; 
but I know not that I shall venture to drink a sec- 
ond glass. It is a wine that does not bear mixture 
with other vintages, though of most genial and admi- 
rable qualities when taken by itself. Drink your 
own, however, for it will be a rare occasion indeed 
that would induce me to offer you another bottle of 
this rare stock.” 

Eedclyffe sipped his second glass, endeavoring to 
find out what was this subtile and peculiar flavor that 
hid itself so, and yet seemed on the point of revealing 
itself. It had, he thought, a singular effect upon his 
faculties, quickening and making them active, and 
21 


322 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET, 


causing him to feel as if he were on the point of pen- 
etrating rare mysteries, such as men’s thoughts are 
always hovering round, and always returning from. 
Some strange, vast, sombre, mysterious truth, which 
he seemed to have searched for long, appeared to be 
on the point of being revealed to him; a sense of 
something to come; something to happen that had 
been waiting long, long to happen; an opening of 
doors, a drawing away of veils ; a lifting of heavy, 
magnificent curtains, whose dark folds hung before a 
spectacle of awe ; — it was like the verge of the grave. 
Whether it was the exquisite wine of Braithwaite, or 
whatever it might be, the American felt a strange in- 
fluence upon him, as if he were passing through the 
gates of eternity, and finding on the other side the rev- 
elation of some secret that had greatly perplexed him 
on this side. He thought that Braithwaite’s face 
assumed a strange, subtile smile, — not malicious, yet 
crafty, triumphant, and at the same time terribly sad, 
and with that perception his senses, his life, welled 
away ; and left him in the deep ancestral chair at the 
board of Braithwaite. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


323 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

When awake,^ or beginning to awake, he lay for 
some time in a maze; not a disagreeable one, but 
thoughts were running to and fro in his mind, all 
mixed and jumbled together. Eeminiscences of early 
days, even those that were Preadamite ; referring, we 
mean, to those times in the almshouse, which he 
could not at ordinary times remember at all; but 
now there seemed to be visions of old women and 
men, and pallid girls, and little dirty boys, which 
could only be referred to that epoch. Also, and most 
vividly, there was the old Doctor, with his sternness, 
his fierceness, his mystery; and all that happened 
since, playing phantasmagoria before his yet unclosed 
eyes ; nor, so mysterious was his state, did he know, 
when he should unclose those lids, where he should 
find himself. He was content to let the world go on 
in this way, as long as it would, and therefore did not 
hurry, but rather kept back the proofs of awakening ; 
willing to look at the scenes that were unrolling for 
his amusement, as it seemed ; and willing, too, to 
keep it uncertain whether he were not back in Amer- 
ica, and in his boyhood, and all other subsequent 
impressions a dream or a prophetic vision. But at 
length something stirring near him, — or whether it 


324 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 


stirred, or whether he dreamed it, he could not quite 
tell, — but the uncertainty impelled him, at last, to 
open his eyes, and see whereabouts he was. 

Even then he continued in as much uncertainty 
as he was before, and lay with marvellous quietude 
in it, trying sluggishly to make the mystery out. It 
was in a dim, twilight place, wherever it might be ; a 
place of half-awakeness, where the outlines of things 
were not well defined ; but it seemed to be a cham- 
ber, antique and vaulted, narrow and high, hung 
round with old tapestry. Whether it were morning 
or midday he could not tell, such was the character 
of the light, nor even where it came from ; for there 
appeared to be no windows, and yet it was not ap- 
parently artificial light ; nor light at all, indeed, but 
a gray dimness. It was so like his own half-awake 
state that he lay in it a longer time, not incited to 
finish his awaking, but in a languor, not disagreeable, 
yet hanging heavily, heavily upon him, like a dark 
pall. It was, in fact, as if he had been asleep for 
years, or centuries, or till the last day was dawning, 
and then was collecting his thoughts in such slow 
fashion as would then be likely. 

Again that noise, — a little, low, quiet sound, as of 
one breathing somewhere near him. The whole thing 
was very much like that incident which introduced 
him to the Hospital, and his first coming to his senses 
there ; and he almost fancied that some such accident 
must again have happened to him, and that when his 
sight cleared he should again behold the venerable 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 325 


figure of the pensioner. With this idea he let his 
head steady itself ; and it seemed to him that its diz- 
ziness must needs he the result of very long and 
deep sleep. What if it were the sleep of a century ? 
What if all things that were extant when he went 
to sleep had passed away, and he was waking now 
in another epoch of time ? Where was America, and 
the republic in which he hoped for such great things ? 
Where England ? had she stood it better than the 
republic? Was the old Hospital still in being, — 
although the good Warden must long since have 
passed out of his warm and pleasant life ? And him- 
self, how came he to be preserved ? In what musty 
old nook had he been put away, where Time neglected 
and Death forgot him, until now he was to get up 
friendless, helpless, — when new heirs had come to 
the estate he was on the point of laying claim to, 
— and go onward through what remained of life ? 
Would it not have been better to have lived with 
his contemporaries, and to be now dead and dust 
with them ? Poor, petty interests of a day, how 
slight ! 

Again the noise, a little stir, a sort of quiet moan, 
or something that he could not quite define ; but it 
seemed, whenever he heard it, as if some fact thrust 
itself through the dream-work with which he was 
circumfused ; something alien to his fantasies, yet not 
powerful enough to dispel them. It began to be irk- 
some to him, this little sound of something near him ; 
and he thought, in the space of another hundred 


326 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


years, if it continued, he should have to arouse him- 
self and see what it was. But, indeed, there was 
something so cheering in this long repose, — this rest 
from all the troubles of earth, which it sometimes 
seems as if only a churchyard bed would give us, — 
that he wished the noise would let him alone. But 
his thoughts were gradually getting too busy for this 
slumberous state. He begun, perforce, to come nearer 
actuality. The strange question occurred to him, 
Had any time at all passed ? Was he not still sitting 
at Lord Braithwaite’s table, having just now quaffed 
a second glass of that rare and curious Italian wine ? 
Was it not affecting his head very strangely, — so that 
he was put out of time as it were ? He would rally 
himself, and try to set his head right with another 
glass. He must be still at table, for now he remem- 
bered he had not gone to bed at all.^ 

Ah, the noise 1 He could not bear it, he would 
awake now, now ! — silence it, and then to sleep 
again. In fact, he started up ; started to his feet, in 
puzzle and perplexity, and stood gazing around him, 
with swimming brain. It was an antique room, 
which he did not at all recognize, and, indeed, in that 
dim twilight — which how it came he could not tell 
— he could scarcely discern what were its distinguish- 
ing marks. But he seemed to be sensible, that, in a 
high-backed chair, at a little distance from him, sat a 
figure in a long robe ; a figure of a man with snow- 
white hair and a long beard, who seemed to be gazing 
at him, quietly, as if he had been gazing a hundred 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 327 


years. I know not what it was, but there was an 
influence as if this old man belonged to some other 
age and category of man than he was now amongst. 
He remembered the old family legend of the exist- 
ence of an ancestor two or three centuries in age. 

It is the old family personified,” thought he. 

The old figure made no sign, but continued to sit 
gazing at him in so strangely still a manner that it 
made Eedclyffe shiver with something that seemed 
like affright. There was an aspect of long, long time 
about him ; as if he had never been young, or so long 
ago as when the world was young along with him. 
He might be the demon of this old house ; the repre- 
sentative of all that happened in it, the grief, the long 
languor and weariness of life, the deaths, gathering 
them all into himself, and figuring them in furrows, 
wrinkles, and white hairs, — a being that might have 
been young, when those old Saxon timbers were put 
together, with the oaks that were saplings when Caesar 
landed, and was in his maturity when the Conqueror 
came, and was now lapsing into extreme age when 
the nineteenth century was elderly. His garb might 
have been of any time, that long, loose robe that 
enveloped him. Eedclyffe remained in this way, gaz- 
ing at this aged figure; at first without the least 
wonder, but calmly, as we feel in dreams, when, being 
in a land of enchantment, we take everything as if it 
were a matter of course, and feel, by the right of our 
own marvellous nature, on terms of equal kindred 
with all other marvels. So it was with him when he 


328 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET, 


first became aware of the old man, sitting there with 
that age-long regard directed towards him. 

But, by degrees, a sense of wonder had its will, and 
grew, slowly at first, in Eedclyffe’s mind ; and almost 
twin-born with it, and growing piece by piece, there 
was a sense of awful fear, as his waking senses came 
slowly back to him. In the dreamy state, he had 
felt no fear ; but, as a waking man, it was fearful to 
discover that the shadowy forms did not fly from his 
awaking eyes. He started at last to his feet from 
the low couch on which he had all this time been 

lying- 

What are you ? ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Where am I ? ” 

The old figure made no answer ; nor could Eed- 
clyffe be quite sure that his voice had any effect upon 
it, though he fancied that it was shaken a little, as if 
his voice came to it from afar. But it continued to 
gaze at him, or at least to have its aged face turned 
towards him in the dim light ; and this strange com- 
posure, and unapproachableness, were very frightful. 
As his manhood gathered about his heart, however, 
the American endeavored to shake off this besetting 
fear, or awe, or whatever it was ; and to bring him- 
self to a sense of waking things, — to burst through 
the mist and delusive shows that bewildered him, 
and catch hold of a reality. He stamped upon the 
floor ; it was solid stone, the pavement, or oak so old 
and stanch that it resembled it. There was one 
firm thing, therefore. But the contrast between this 
and the slipperiness, the unaccountableness, of the 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET 329 


rest of his position, made him the more sensible of 
the latter. He made a step towards the old figure ; 
another; another. He was face to face with him, 
within a yard of distance. He saw the faint move- 
ment of the old man’s breath ; he sought, through the 
twilight of the room, some glimmer of perception in 
his eyes. 

Are you a living man ? ” asked Eedclyffe, faintly 
and doubtfully. 

He mumbled, the old figure, some faint moaning 
sound, that, if it were language at all, had all the 
edges and angles worn off it by decay, — unintelligi- 
ble, except that it seemed to signify a faint mournful- 
ness and complainingness of mood ; and then held his 
peace, continuing to gaze as before. Eedclyffe could 
not bear the awe that filled him, while he kept at a 
distance, and, coming desperately forward, he stood 
close to the old figure ; he touched his robe, to see if 
it were real; he laid his hand upon the withered 
hand that held the staff, in which he now recognized 
the very staff of the Doctor’s legend. His fingers 
touched a real hand, though, bony and dry, as if it 
had been in the grave. 

Then you are real ? ” said Eedclyffe doubtfully. 

The old figure seemed to have exhausted itself — 
its energies, what there were of them — in the effort 
of making the unintelligible communication already 
vouchsafed. Then he seemed to lapse out of con- 
sciousness, and not to know what was passing, or to 
be sensible that any person was near him. But Eed- 


330 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


clyffe was now resuming his firmness and daylight 
consciousness even in the dimness. He ran over 
all that he had heard of the legend of the old 
house, rapidly considering whether there might not 
be something of fact in the legend of the undy- 
ing old man ; whether, as told or whispered in 
the chimney-corners, it might not be an instance of 
the mysterious, the half-spiritual mode, in which 
actual truths communicate themselves imperfectly 
through a medium that gives them the aspect of 
falsehood. Something in the atmosphere of the 
house made its inhabitants and neighbors dimly 
aware that there was a secret resident ; it was by a 
language not audible, but of impression ; there could 
not be such a secret in its recesses, without making 
itself sensible. This legend of the undying one trans- 
lated it to vulgar apprehension. He remembered 
those early legends, told by the Doctor, in his child- 
hood ; he seemed imperfectly and doubtfully to see 
what was their true meaning, and how, taken aright, 
they had a reality, and were the craftily concealed 
history of his own wrongs, sufferings, and revenge. 
And this old man ! who was he ? He joined the 
Warden's account of the family to the Doctor's le- 
gends. He could not believe, or take thoroughly in, 
the strange surmise to which they led him ; but, by 
an irresistible impulse, he acted on it. 

Sir Edward Eedclyffe ! he exclaimed. 

“ Ha ! who speaks to me ? ” exclaimed the old man, 
in a startled voice, like one who hears himself called 
at an unexpected moment. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWRS SECRET, 331 

Sir Edward Eedclyffe/’ repeated Eedclyffe, I 
bring you news of Norman Oglethorpe ! ” ^ 

“ The villain ! the tyrant ! mercy ! mercy ! save 
me ! ” cried the old man, in most violent emotion of 
terror and rage intermixed, that shook his old frame 
as if it would be shaken asunder. He stood erect, 
the picture of ghastly horror, as if he saw before him 
that stern face that had thrown a blight over his 
life, and so fearfully avenged, from youth to age, 
the crime that he had committed. The effect, the 
passion, was too much, — the terror with which it 
smote, the rage that accompanied it, blazed up for a 
moment with a fierce flame, then flickered and went 
out. He stood tottering ; Eedclyffe put out his hand 
to support him ; but he sank down in a heap on the 
floor, as if a thing of dry bones had been suddenly 
loosened at the joints, and fell in a rattling heap.^ 


332 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

Eedclyffe, apparently, had not communicated to 
his agent in London his change of address, when he 
left the Warden’s residence to avail himself of the 
hospitality of Braithwaite Hall; for letters arrived 
for him, from his own country, both private and with 
the seal of state upon them ; one among the rest that 
bore on the envelope the name of the President of 
the United States. The good Warden was impressed 
with great respect for so distinguished a signature, 
and, not knowing but that the welfare of the Eepublic 
(for which he had an Englishman’s contemptuous in- 
terest) might be involved in its early delivery at its 
destination, he determined to ride over to Braithwaite 
Hall, call on his friend, and deliver it with his own 
hand. With this purpose, he mounted his horse, at 
the hour of his usual morning ride, and set forth ; 
and, before reaching the village, saw a figure before 
him which he recognized as that of the pensioner.^ 

“ Soho ! whither go you, old friend ? ” said the 
Warden, drawing his bridle as he came up with the 
old man. 

To Braithwaite Hall, sir,” said the pensioner, who 
continued to walk diligently on ; " and I am glad to 
see your honor (if it be so) on the same eiTand.” 


DOCTOR GRIMSHA WRS SECRET. 333 


Why so ? asked the Warden. You seem much 
in earnest. Why should my visit to Braithwaite Hall 
he a special cause of rejoicing ? ” 

said the pensioner, ‘'your honor is spe- 
cially interested in this young American, who has 
gone thither to abide ; and when one is in a strange 
country he needs some guidance. My mind is not 
easy about the young man.’' 

“Well,” said the Warden, smiling to himself at the 
old gentleman’s idle and senile fears, “I commend 
your diligence on behalf of your friend.” 

He rode on as he spoke, and deep in one of the 
woodland paths he saw the flutter of a woman’s gar- 
ment, and, greatly to his surprise, overtook Elsie, 
who seemed to be walking along with great rapidity, 
and, startled by the approach of hoofs behind her, 
looked up at him, with a pale cheek. 

“ Good morning, Miss Elsie,” said the Warden. 
“ You are taking a long walk this morning. I regret 
to see that I have frightened you.” 

“ Pray, whither are you going ? ” said she. 

“ To the Hall,” said the Warden, wondering at the 
abrupt question. 

“Ah, sir,” exclaimed Elsie, “for Heaven’s sake, 
pray insist on seeing Mr. Eedclyffe, — take no excuse. 
There are reasons for it.” 

“ Certainly, fair lady,” responded the Warden, won- 
dering more and more at this injunction from such a 
source. “And when I see this fascinating gentle- 
man, pray what message am I to give him from Miss 


334 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


Elsie, — who, moreover, seems to be on the eve of 
visiting him in person?” 

See him ! see him ! Only see him ! ” said Elsie, 
with passionate earnestness, "'and in haste ! See him 
now ! ” 

She waved him onward as she spoke; and the 
Warden, greatly commoted for the nonce, complied 
with the maiden’s fantasy so far as to ride on at a 
quicker pace, uneasily marvelling at what could have 
aroused this usually shy and reserved girl’s nervous- 
ness to such a pitch. The incident served at all 
events to titillate his English sluggishness ; so that 
he approached the avenue of the old Hall with a 
vague expectation of something that had happened 
there, though he knew not of what nature it could 
possibly be. However, he rode round to the side 
entrance, by which horsemen generally entered the 
house, and, a groom approaching to take his bridle, 
he alighted and approached the door. I know not 
whether it were anything more than the glistening 
moisture common in an English autumnal morning ; 
but so it was, that the trace of the Bloody Footstep 
seemed fresh, as if it had been that very night im- 
printed anew, and the crime made all over again, 
with fresh guilt upon somebody’s soul. 

When the footman came to the door, responsive 
to his ring, the Warden inquired for Mr. Eedclyffe, 
the American gentleman. 

^'The American gentleman left for London, early 
this morning,” replied the footman, in a matter-of-fact 
way. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 335 


Gone !” exclaimed the Warden. This is sudden ; 
and strange that he should go without saying good by. 
Gone/' and then he remembered the old pensioner’s 
eagerness that the Warden should come here, and El- 
sie’s strange injunction that he should insist on seeing 
Eedclyffe. Pray, is Lord Braithwaite at home ? ” 

I think, sir, he is in the library,” said the servant, 
but will see ; pray, sir, walk in.” 

He returned in a moment, and ushered the Warden 
through passages with which he was familiar of old, 
to the library, where he found Lord Braithwaite sit- 
ting with the London newspaper in his hand. He 
rose and welcomed his guest with great equanimity. 

To the Warden’s inquiries after Eedclyffe, Lord 
Braithwaite replied that his guest had that morning 
left the house, being called to London by letters from 
America ; but of what nature Lord Braithwaite was 
unable to say, except that they seemed to be of 
urgency and importance. The Warden’s further in- 
quiries, which he pushed as far as was decorous, 
elicited nothing more than this ; and he was prepar- 
ing to take his leave, — not seeing any reason for 
insisting (according to Elsie’s desire) on the impossi- 
bility of seeing a man who was not there, — nor, in- 
deed, any reason for so doing. And yet it seemed 
very strange that Eedclyffe should have gone so un- 
ceremoniously ; nor was he half satisfied, though he 
knew not why he should be otherwise. 

Do you happen to know Mr. Eedclyffe’s address 
in London,” asked the Warden. 


336 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


‘'Not at all,” said Braithwaite, "But I presume 
there is courtesy enough in the American character 
to impel him to write to me, or both of us, within a 
day or two, telling us of his whereabouts and what- 
abouts. Should you know, I beg you will let me 
know ; for I have really been pleased with this gen- 
tleman, and should have been glad could he have 
favored me with a somewhat longer visit ” 

There was nothing more to be said ; and the War- 
den took his leave, and was about mounting his 
horse, when he beheld the pensioner approaching the 
house, and he remained standing until he should 
come up. 

" You are too late,” said he, as the old man drew 
near. " Our friend has taken French leave.” 

"Mr. Warden,” said the old man solemnly, "let 
me pray you not to give him up so easily. Come 
with me into the presence of Lord Braithwaite.” 

The Warden made some objections; but the pen- 
sioner's manner was so earnest, that he soon con- 
sented ; knowing that the strangeness of his sudden 
return might well enough be put upon the eccentrici- 
ties of the pensioner, especially as he was so well 
known to Lord Braithwaite. He accordingly again 
rang at the door, which being opened by the same 
stolid footman, the Warden desired him to announce 
to Lord Braithwaite that the Warden and a pen- 
sioner desired to see him. He soon returned, with a 
request that they would walk in, and ushered them 
again to the library, where they found the master of 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWWS SECRET. 337 


the house in conversation with Omskirk at one end 
of the apartment, — a whispered conversation, which 
detained him a moment, after their arrival. The 
Warden fancied that he saw in old Omskirk’s coun- 
tenance a shade more of that mysterious horror which 
made him such a bugbear to children; but when 
Braithwaite turned from him and approached his 
visitor, there was no trace of any disturbance, beyond 
a natural surprise to see his good friend the Warden 
so soon after his taking leave.^ 

I see you are surprised,’' said the latter. But 
you must lay the blame, if any, on our good old friend 
here, who, for some reason, best known to himself, 
insisted on having my company here.” 

Braithwaite looked to the old pensioner, with a 
questioning look, as if good-humoredly (yet not as if 
he cared much about it) asking for an explanation. 
As Omskirk was about leaving the room, having re- 
mained till this time, with that nervous look which 
distinguished him gazing towards the party, the pen- 
sioner made him a sign, which he obeyed as if com- 
pelled to do so. 

'‘Well, my friend,” said the Warden, somewhat 
impatient of the aspect in which he himself ap- 
peared, “I beg of you, explain at once to Lord 
Braithwaite why you have brought me back in this 
strange way.” 

“ It is,” said the pensioner quietly, “ that in your 
presence I request him to allow me to see Mr. Eed- 
clyffe.” 


22 


338 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


“ Why, my friend,’’ said Braithwaite, how can I 
show you a man who has left my house, and whom 
in the chances of this life, I am not very likely to see 
again, though hospitably desirous of so doing ? ” 

Here ensued a laughing sort of colloquy between 
the Warden and Braithwaite, in which the former 
jocosely excused himself for having yielded to the 
whim of the pensioner, and returned with him on an 
errand which he well knew to be futile. 

‘‘ I have long been aware,” he said apart, in a con- 
fidential way, ‘‘ of something a little awry in our old 
friend’s mental system. You will excuse him, and 
me for humoring him.” 

“Of course, of course,” said Braithwaite, in the 
same tone. “ I shall not be moved by anything the 
old fellow can say.” 

The old pensioner, meanwhile, had been as it were 
heating up, and gathering himself into a mood of 
energy which those who saw him had never before 
witnessed in his usually quiet person. He seemed 
somehow to grow taller and larger, more impressive. 
At length, fixing his eyes on Lord Braithwaite, he 
spoke again. 

“Dark, murderous man,” exclaimed he. “Your 
course has not been unwatched ; the secrets of this 
mansion are not unknown. For two centuries back, 
they have been better known to them who dwell afar 
off than to those resident within the mansion. The 
foot that made the Bloody Footstep has returned 
from its long wanderings, and it passes on, straight 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 339 


as destiny, — sure as an avenging Providence, — to 
the punishment and destruction of those who incur 
retribution.” 

“ Here is an odd kind of tragedy,” said Lord Braith- 
waite, with a scornful smile. Come, my old friend, 
lay aside this vein and talk sense.” 

Not thus do you escape your penalty, hardened 
and crafty one ! ” exclaimed the pensioner. I de- 
mand of you, before this worthy Warden, access to 
the secret ways of this mansion, of which thou dost 
unjustly retain possession. I shall disclose what for 
centuries has remained hidden, — the ghastly secrets 
that this house hides.” 

‘'Humor him,” whispered the Warden, “and here- 
after I will take care that the exuberance of our old 
friend shall be duly restrained. He shall not trouble 
you again.” 

Lord Braithwaite, to say the truth, appeared a little 
flabbergasted and disturbed by these latter expres- 
sions of the old gentleman. He hesitated, turned 
pale ; but at last, recovering his momentary confusion 
and irresolution, he replied, with apparent careless- 
ness : — 

“ Go wherever you will, old gentleman. The house 
is open to you for this time. If ever you have an- 
other opportunity to disturb it, the fault will be 
mine.” 

“Follow, sir,” said the pensioner, turning to the 
Warden ; “ follow, maiden Now shall a great mys- 
tery begin to be revealed.” 


340 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


So saying, he led the way before them, passing out 
of the hall, not by the doorway, but through one of 
the oaken panels of the wall, which admitted the 
party into a passage which seemed to pass through 
the thickness of the wall, and was lighted by inter- 
stices through which shone gleams of light. This 
led them into what looked like a little vestibule, or 
circular room, which the Warden, though deeming 
himself many years familiar with the old house, had 
never seen before, any more than the passage which 
led to it. To his surprise, this room was not vacant, 
for in it sat, in a large old chair, Omskirk, like a toad 
in its hole, like some wild, fearful creature in its den, 
and it was now partly understood how this man had 
the possibility of suddenly disappearing, so inscruta- 
bly, and so in a moment ; and, when all quest for him 
was given up, of as suddenly appearing again. 

‘‘ Ha ! ” said old Omskirk, slowly rising, as at the 
approach of some event that he had long expected. 

Is he coming at last ? 

“ Poor victim of another’s iniquity,” said the pen- 
sioner. “ Thy release approaches. Eejoice ! ” 

The old man arose with a sort of trepidation and 
solemn joy intermixed in his manner, and bowed rev- 
erently, as if there were in what he heard more than 
other ears could understand in it. 

“Yes; I have waited long,” replied he. “Wel- 
come ; if my release is come.” 

“Well,” said Lord Braithwaite, scornfully. “This 
secret retreat of my house is known to many. It 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


341 


was the priest’s secret chamber when it was danger- 
ous to be of the old and true religion, here in Eng- 
land. There is no longer any use in concealing this 
place ; and the Warden, or any man, might have seen 
it, or any of the curiosities of the old hereditary 
house, if desirous so to do.” 

Aha ! son of Belial ! ” quoth the pensioner. And 
this, too ! ” 

He took three pieces from a certain point of the 
wall, which he seemed to know, and stooped to press 
upon the floor. The Warden looked at Lord Braith- 
waite, and saw that he had grown deadly pale. What 
his change of cheer might bode, he could not guess ; 
but, at the pressure of the old pensioner’s finger, the 
floor, or a segment of it, rose like the lid of a box, and 
discovered a small darksome pair of stairs, within 
which burned a lamp, lighting it downward, like the 
steps that descend into a sepulchre. 

Follow,” said he, to those who looked on, won- 
dering. 

And he began to descend. Lord Braithwaite saw 
him disappear, then frantically followed, the Warden 
next, and old Omskirk took his place in the rear, 
like a man following his inevitable destiny. At the 
bottom of a winding descent, that seemed deep and 
remote, and far within, they came to a door, which 
the pensioner pressed with a spring; and, passing 
through the space that disclosed itself, the whole 
party followed, and found themselves in a small, 
gloomy room. On one side of it was a couch, on 


342 DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET. 


which sat Eedclyffe; face to face with him was a 
white-haired figure in a chair. 

You are come said Eedclyffe, solemnly. But 
too late ! ” 

“And yonder is the coffer/’ said the pensioner. 
“Open but that; and our quest is ended.” 

“ That, if I mistake not, I can do,” said Eedclyffe. 

He drew forth — what he had kept all this time, 
as something that might yet reveal to him the mys- 
tery of his birth — the silver key that had been found 
by the grave in far New England ; and applying it 
to the lock, he slowly turned it on the hinges, that 
had not been turned for two hundred years. All — 
even Lord Braithwaite, guilty and shame-stricken as 
he felt — pressed forward to look upon what was 
about to be disclosed. What were the wondrous 
contents ? The entire, mysterious coffer was full of 
golden ringlets, abundant, clustering through the 
whole coffer, and living with elasticity, so as imme- 
diately, as it were, to flow over the sides of the coffer, 
and rise in large abundance from the long compres- 
sion. Into this — by a miracle of natural production 
which was known likewise in other cases — into this 
had been resolved the whole bodily substance of that 
fair and unfortunate being, known so long in the 
legends of the family as the Beauty of the Golden 
Locks. As the pensioner looked at this strange sight, 
— the lustre of the precious and miraculous hair 
gleaming and glistening, and seeming to add light 
to the gloomy room, — he took from his breast 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET.- 343 


pocket another lock of hair, in a locket, and com- 
pared it, before their faces, with that which brimmed 
over from the coffer. 

“ It is the same ! ” said he. 

And who are you that know it?” asked Eedclyffe, 
surprised. 

He whose ancestors taught him the secret, — who 
has had it handed down to him these two centuries, 
and now only with regret yields to the necessity of 
making it known.” 

“ You are the heir ! ” said Eedclyffe. 

In that gloomy room, beside the dead old man, 
they looked at him, and saw a dignity beaming on 
him, covering his whole figure, that broke out Like a 
lustre at the close of day. 



t 




/ ' 



• • I 





APPENDIX. 


CHAPTER 1. 

Note 1. The MS. gives the following alternative open- 
ings : Early in the present century ‘'Soon after the 
devolution ; “Many years ago.^^ 

Note 2. Throughout the first four pages of the MS. the 
Doctor is called “ Ormskirk/’ and in an earlier draft of this 
portion of the romance, “ Etheredge.” 

Note 3. Author's note. — “ Crusty Hannah is a mixture 
of Indian and negro.” 

Note 4. Author's note. — “ It is understood from the 
first that the children are not brother and sister. — De- 
scribe the children with really childish traits, quarrelling, 
being naughty, etc. — The Doctor should occasionally beat 
Ned in com*se of instruction.” 

Note 5. In order to show the manner in which Haw- 
thorne would modify a passage, which was nevertheless to 
be left substantially the same, I subjoin here a description 
of this graveyard as it appears in the earlier draft : “ The 
graveyard (we are sorry to have to treat of such a disa- 
greeable piece of ground, but everybody's business centres 
there at one time or another) was the most ancient in the 


346 


APPENDIX. 


town. The dust of the original Englishmen had become 
incorporated with the soil ; of those Englishmen whose im- 
mediate predecessors had been resolved into the earth about 
the country churches, — the little Norman, square, battle- 
niented stone towers of the villages in the old land ; so 
that in this point of view, as holding bones and dust of 
the first ancestors, this graveyard was more English than 
anything else in town. There had been hidden from 
sight many a broad, bluff visage of husbandmen that had 
ploughed the real English soil ; there the faces of noted 
men, now known in history; there many a personage 
whom tradition told about, making wondrous qualities of 
strength and courage for him ; — all these, mingled with 
succeeding generations, turned up and battened down again 
with the sexton’s spade ; until every blade of grass was hu- 
man more than vegetable, — for an hundred and fifty years 
will do this, and so much time, at least, had elapsed since 
the first little mound was piled up in the virgin soil. Old 
tombs there were too, with numerous sculptures on them ; 
and quaint, mossy gravestones; although all kinds of 
' monumental appendages were of a date more recent than 
the time of the first settlers, who had been content with 
wooden memorials, if any, the sculptor’s art not having 
then reached New England. Thus rippled, surged, broke 
almost against the house, this dreary graveyard, which 
made the street gloomy, so that people did not like to pass 
the dark, high wooden fence, with its closed gate, that sep- 
arated it from the street. And this old house was one that 
crowded upon it, and took up the ground that would oth- 
erwise have been sown as thickly with dead as the rest of 
the lot ; so that it seemed hardly possible but that the 
dead people should get up out of their graves, and come in 


APPENDIX, 


347 


there to warm themselves. But in truth, I have never 
heard a whisper of its being haunted.” 

Note 6. Author^ s note. — The spiders are affected by 
the weather and serve as barometers. — It shall always be 
a moot point whether the Doctor really believed in cob- 
webs, or was laughing at the credulous.” 

Note 7. Author^ s note, — The townspeople are at war 
with the Doctor. — Introduce the Doctor early as a smoker, 
and describe. — The result of Crusty Hannah's strangely 
mixed breed should be shown in some strange way. — Give 
vivid pictures of the society of the day, symbolized in the 
street scenes.” 


— ♦ 

CHAPTER 11. 

Note!, AtUhor^s note. — “Read the whole paragraph 
before copying any of it.” 

Note 2. Author’s note. — Crusty Hannah teaches Elsie 
curious needlework, etc.” 

Note 3. These two children are described as follows in 
an early note of the author’s : The boy had all the qual- 
ities fitted to excite tenderness in those who had the care 
of him ; in the first and most evident place, on account of 
his personal beauty, which was very remarkable, — the 
most intelligent and expressive face that can be conceived, 
changing in those early years like an April day, and beautiful 
in all its changes ; dark, but of a soft expression, kindling, 
melting, glowing, laughing ; a varied intelligence, which it 
was as good as a book to read. He was quick in all modes 
of mental exercise ; quick and strong, too, in sensibility ; 
proud, and gifted (probably by the circumstances in which 


348 


APPENDIX. 


lie was placed) with an energy which the softness and 
impressibility of his nature needed. — As for the little girl, 
all the squalor of the abode served but to set off her light- 
someness and brightsomeness. She was a pale, large-eyed 
little thing, and it might have been supposed that the air 
of the house and the contiguity of the burial-place had a 
bad effect upon her health. Yet I hardly think this could 
have been the case, for she was of a very airy nature, dan- 
cing and sporting through the house as if melancholy had 
never been made. She took all kinds of childish liberties 
with the Doctor, and with his pipe, and with everything 
appertaining to him except his spiders and his cobwebs.’’ — 
All of which goes to show that Hawthorne first conceived 
his characters in the mood of the ‘‘ Twice-Told Tales,” and 
then by meditation solidified them to the inimitable flesh- 
and-blood of ‘‘The House of the Seven Gables” and “The 
Blithedale Eomance.” 


CHAPTER III. 

Note 1. An English church spire, evidently the proto- 
type of this, and concerning which the same legend is told, 
is mentioned in the author’s “ English Note-Books.” 

Note 2. Leicester Hospital, in Warwick, described in 
“ Our Old Home,” is the original of this charity. 

Note 3. Author's note . — “The children find a grave- 
stone with something like a footprint on it.” 

Note 4. Author's note. — “ Put into the Doctor’s char- 
acter a continual enmity against somebody, breaking out in 
curses of which nobody can understand the application.” 


APPENDIX, 


349 


CHAPTER IV. 

Note 1. The Doctor’s propensity for cobwebs is ampli- 
fied in the following note for an earlier and somewhat 
milder version of the character : According to him, all 
science was to be renewed and established on a sure ground 
by no other means than cobwebs. The cobweb was the 
magic clue by which mankind was to be rescued from all 
its errors, and guided safely back to the right. And so he 
cherished spiders above all things, and kept them spin- 
ning, spinning away ; the only textile factory that existed 
at that epoch in New England. He distinguished the pro- 
duction of each of his ugly friends, and assigned peculiar 
qualities to each ; and he had been for years engaged in 
writing a work on this new discovery, in reference to which 
he had already compiled a great deal of folio manuscript, 
and had unguessed at resources still to come. With this 
suggestive subject he interwove all imaginable learning, 
collected from his own library, rich in works that few oth- 
ers had read, and from that of his beloved University, 
crabbed with Greek, rich with Latin, drawing into itself, 
like a whirlpool, all that men had thought hitherto, and 
combining them anew in such a way that it had all the 
charm of a racy originality. Then he had projects for the 
cultivation of cobwebs, to which end, in the good Doctor’s 
opinion, it seemed desirable to devote a certain part of the 
national income; and not content with this, all public- 
spirited citizens would probably be induced to devote as 
much of their time and means as they could to the same 
end. According to him, there was no such beautiful fes- 
toon and drapery for the halls of princes as the spinning 


350 


APPENDIX. 


of this heretofore despised and hated insect ; and by due 
encouragement it might be hoped that they would flourish, 
and hang and dangle and wave triumphant in the breeze, 
to an extent as yet generally undreamed of. And he la- 
mented much the destruction that has heretofore been 
wrought upon this precious fabric by the housemaid^s 
broom, and insisted upon by foolish women who claimed 
to be good housewives. Indeed, it was the general opin- 
ion that the Doctor’s celibacy was in great measure due to 
the impossibility of finding a woman who would pledge 
herself to co-operate with him in this great ambition of his 
life, — that of reducing the world to a cobweb factory ; 
or who would bind herself to let her own drawing-room be 
ornamented with this kind of tapestry. But there never 
was a wife precisely fitted for our friend the Doctor, unless 
it had been Arachne herself, to whom, if she could again 
have been restored to her female shape, he would doubtless 
have lost no time in paying his addresses. It was doubt- 
less the having dwelt too long among the musty and dusty 
clutter and litter of things gone by, that made the Doctor 
almost a monomaniac on this subject. There were cob- 
webs in his own brain, and so he saw nothing valuable but 
cobwebs in the world around him ; and deemed that the 
march of created things, up to this time, had been calcu- 
lated by foreknowledge to produce them.” 

Note 2. Author' s note. — ‘^Ned must learn something 
of the characteristics of the Catechism, and simple cottage 
devotion.” 


APPENDIX, 


351 


CHAPTEE V. 

Notel, Authors note, — ‘^Make tlie following scene 
emblematic of the world’s treatment of a dissenter.” 

Note 2. Author^ s note, — Yankee characteristics should 
be shown in the schoolmaster’s manners.” 

— 

CHAPTEE VI. 

Note 1. Authors note. — ‘^He had a sort of horror of 
violence, and of the strangeness that it should be done to 
him ; this affected him more than the blow.” 

Note 2. Author's note, — Jokes occasionally about the 
schoolmaster’s thinness and lightness, — how he might sus- 
pend himself from the spider’s web and swing, etc.” 

Note 3. Author's note, — ‘‘ The Doctor and the School- 
master should have much talk about England.” 

Note 4. Author's note. — “ The children were at play in 
the churchyard.” 

Note 5. Author's note. — He mentions that he was 
probably buried in the churchyard there.” 

— % — 

CHAPTEE YH. 

Note 1. Axithor's note. — Perhaps put this narratively, 
not as spoken.” 

Note 2. Author's note. — ‘‘He was privately married 
to the heiress, if she were an heiress. They meant to 


352 


APPENDIX, 


kill him in the wood, hut, by contrivance, he was kid- 
napped.’’ 

Note 3. Authors note, — They were privately married.” 

Note 4. Author^ s note, — Old descriptive letters, refer- 
ring to localities as they existed.” 

Note 5, Author's note, — There should be symbols 
and tokens, hinting at the schoolmaster’s disappearance, 
from the first opening of the scene.” 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

Note 1. Author's note, — They had got up in remarka- 
bly good case that morning.” 

Note 2. Author's note, — The stranger may be the fu- 
ture master of the Hospital. — Describe the winter day.” 

Note 3. Author's note, — Describe him as clerical.” 

Note 4. Author's note, — Eepresent him as a refined, 
agreeable, genial young man, of frank, kindly, gentlemanly 
manners.” 

Note 5. Alternative reading : A clergyman.” 

— 

CHAPTEE IX. 

Note 1. Author's note, — Make the old grave-digger a 
laudator temporis acti^ — especially as to burial customs.” 

Note 2. Instead of written,” as in the text, the author 
probably meant to write read.” 

Note 3. The MS. has delight,” but “a light” is evi- 
dently intended.” 

Note 4. Author's note, — ‘‘He aims a blow, perhaps 
with his pipe, at the boy, which Ned wards off.” 


APPENDIX. 


353 


CHAPTER X. 

Note 1. Author^ s note. — ‘‘Ho longer could play at 

quarter-staff with Ned.’’ 

Note 2. A uthors note. — ‘‘ Referring to places and peo- 
ple in England : the Bloody Footstep sometimes.” 

Note 3. In the original the following occurs, but marked 
to indicate that it was to be omitted: ‘‘And kissed his 
hand to her, and laughed feebly ; and that was the last that 
she or anybody, the last glimpse they had of Doctor Grim- 
shawe alive.” 

Note 4. Authors notes. — “A great deal must be made 
out of the spiders, and their gloomy, dusky, flaunting tap- 
estry. A web across the orifice of his inkstand every morn- 
ing; everywhere, indeed, except across the snout of his 
brandy-bottle. — Depict the Doctor in an old dressing- 
gown, and a strange sort of a cap, like a wizard’s. — The 
two children are witnesses of many strange experiments in 
the study ; they see his moods, too. — The Doctor is sup- 
posed to be writing a work on the Natural History of Spi- 
ders. Perhaps he used them as a blind for his real project, 
and used to bamboozle the learned with pretending to read 
them passages in which great learning seemed to be elabo- 
rately worked up, crabbed with Greek and Latin, as if the 
topic drew into itself, like a whirlpool, all that men thought 
and knew; plans to cultivate cobwebs on a large scale. 
Sometimes, after overwhelming them with astonishment in 
this way, he would burst into one of his laughs. Schemes 
to make the world a cobweb-factory, etc., etc. Cobwebs in 
his own brain. — Crusty Hannah such a mixture of persons 
and races as could be found only at a seaport. There was 
23 


354 


APPENDIX. 


a rumor that the Doctor had murdered a former maid, for 
having, with housewifely instinct, swept away the cobwebs ; 
some said that he had her skeleton in a closet. Some said 
that he had strangled a wife with web of the great spider. 

— Eead the description of Bolton Hall, the garden, lawn, 
etc., Aug. 8, ^53. — Bebbington church and churchyard, 
Aug. 29, '53. — The Doctor is able to love, — able to hate ; 
two great and rare abilities nowadays. — Introduce two 
pine trees, ivy-grown, as at Lowwood Hotel, July 16, '58. 

— The family name might be Eedclyfte. — Thatched cot- 
tage, June 22, '55. — Early introduce the mention of the 
cognizance of the family, — the Leopard's Head, for in- 
stance, in the first part of the romance ; the Doctor may 
have possessed it engraved as coat of arms in a book. — 
The Doctor shall show Ned, perhaps, a drawing or engrav- 
ing of the Hospital, with figures of the pensioners in the 
quadrangle, fitly dressed ; and this picture and the figures 
shall impress themselves strongly on his memory." 

The above dates and places refer to passages in the pub- 
lished English Note-Books." 


CHAPTEE XL 

Note I. Author's note, — Compare it with Spenser’s 
Cave of Despair. Put instruments of suicide there." 

Note 2. Author's note. — “ Once, in looking at the man- 
sion, Eedclyffe is struck by the appearance of a marble 
inserted into the wall, and kept clear of lichens." 

Note 3. Author's note. — “ Describe, in rich poetry, all 
shapes of deadly things." 


APPENDIX, 


355 


CHAPTER XIL 

Note 1. Author^ note, — Conferred their "best quali- 
ties : an alternative phrase for done their utmost.’^ 

Note 2, AiUhor's note, — Let the old man have a 
heard as part of the costume.” 


CHAPTER XIIL 

Note 1. Author's note. — ‘^Describe him as delirious, 
and the scene as adopted into his delirium.” 

Note 2. Author's note. — “ Make the whole scene very 
dreamlike and feverish.” 

Note 3. Author's note. — There should be a slight 
wildness in the patient’s remark to the surgeon, which he 
cannot prevent, though he is conscious of it.” 

Note Author's note, — ‘‘Xotice the peculiar depth 
and intelligence of his eyes, on account of his pain and 
sickness.” 

Note 5. Author's note. — Perhaps the recognition of 
the pensioner should not be so decided. Redclyffe thinks 
it is he, but thinks it as in a dream, without wonder or in- 
quiry ; and the pensioner does not quite acknowledge it.” 

Note 6 . The following dialogue is marked to be omit- 
ted or modified in the original MS.; but it is retained 
here, in order that the thread of the narrative may not 
be broken. 

Note 7. Author's note. — “ The patient, as he gets bet- 
ter, listens to the feet of old people moving in corridors ; 


356 


APPENDIX. 


to the ringing of a hell at stated periods ; to old, tremu- 
lous voices talking in the quadrangle ; etc., etc.” 

N ote 8. At this point the modification indicated in 
]^ote 5 seems to have been made operative : and the rec- 
ognition takes place in another way. 


CHAPTEE XIY. 

Notel. This paragraph is left incomplete in the origi- 
nal MS. 

Note 2. The words Eich old bindings ” are interlined 
here, indicating, perhaps, a purpose to give a more detailed 
description of the library and its contents. 

— » — 

CHAPTEE XY. 

Note 1. Author's note. — think it shall be built of 
stone, however.” 

Note 2. This probably refers to some incident which 
the author intended to incorporate in the former portion of 
the romance, on a final revision. 

— « — 

CHAPTEE XYI. 

Note 1. Several passages, which are essentially repro- 
ductions of what had been previously treated, are omitted 
from this chapter. It belongs to an earlier version of the 
romance. 


APPENDIX. 


357 


CHAPTEE XVII. 

Note 1. Author's note. — Eedclyffe shows how to find, 
under the surface of the village green, an old cross.” 

Note 2. Author's note. — ‘‘A circular seat around the 
tree.” 

Note 3. The reader now hears for the first time what 
Eedclyffe recollected. 

— « — 

CHAPTEE XVIII. 

Note 1. Author's note. — ‘‘The dinner is given to the 
pensioners, as well as to the gentry, I think.” 

Note 2. Author's note. — “ Eor example, a story of three 
brothers, who had a deadly quarrel among them more than 
two hundred years ago for the affections of a young lady, 
their cousin, who gave her reciprocal love to one of them, 
who immediately became the object of the deadly hatred 
of the two others. There seemed to be madness in their 
love ; perhaps madness in the love of all three ; for the 
result had been a plot to kidnap this unfortunate young 
man and convey him to America, where he was sold for a 
servant.” 

— ♦ — ■ 

CHAPTEE XIX. 

Note 1. The following passage, though it seems to fit 
in here chronologically, is concerned with a side issue which 
was not followed up. The author was experimenting for 
a character to act as the accomplice of Lord Braithwaite at 
the Hall \ and he makes trial of the present personage. 


358 


APPENDIX. 


Mountford ; of an Italian priest, Father Angelo ; and 
finally of the steward, Omskirk, who is adopted. It will 
be noticed that Mountford is here endowed (for the mo- 
ment) with the birthright of good Doctor Hammond, the 
Warden. He is represented as having made the journey 
to America in search of the grave. This alteration being 
inconsistent with the true thread of the story, and being, 
moreover, not continued, I have placed this passage in the 
Appendix, instead of in the text. 

Eedclyffe often, in the dim weather, when the pro- 
phetic intimations of rain were too strong to allow an 
American to walk abroad with peace of mind, was in the 
habit of pacing this noble hall, and watching the process 
of renewal and adornment ; or, which suited him still bet- 
ter, of enjoying its great, deep solitude when the workmen 
were away. Parties of visitors, curious tourists, sometimes 
peeped in, took a cursory glimpse at the old hall, and went 
away ; these were the only ordinary disturbances. But, 
one day, a person entered, looked carelessly round the hall, 
as if its antiquity had no great charm to him ; then he 
seemed to approach Eedclyfle, who stood far and dim in 
the remote distance of the great room. The echoing of 
feet on the stone pavement of the hall had always an im- 
pressive sound, and turning his head towards the visitant 
Edward stood as if there were an expectance for him in 
this approach. It was a middle-aged man — rather, a 
man towards fifty, with an alert, capable air ; a man evi- 
dently with something to do in life, and not in the habit 
of throwing away his moments in looking at old halls ; a 
gentlemanly man enough, too. He approached Eedclyffe 
without hesitation, and, lifting his hat, addressed him in a 


APPENDIX, 


359 


way that made Edward wonder whether he could be an 
Englishman. If so, he must have known that Edward 
was an American, and have been trying to adapt his man- 
ners to those of a democratic freedom. 

Mr. Eedclyffe, I believe,” said he. 

Redclyffe bowed, with the stiff caution of an Englishman ; 
for, with American mobility, he had learned to be stiff. 

I think I have had the pleasure of knowing — at least 
of meeting — you very long ago,” said the gentleman. 
‘‘But I see you do not recollect me.” 

Eedclyffe confessed that the stranger had the advan- 
tage of him in his recollection of a previous acquaintance. 

“No wonder,” said the other, “for, as I have already 
hinted, it was many years ago.” 

“ In my own country then, of course,” said Eedclyffe. 

“In your own country certainly,” said the stranger, 
“ and when it would have required a penetrating eye to 
see the distinguished Mr. Eedclyffe, the representative of 
American democracy abroad, in the little pale-faced, intelli- 
gent boy, dwelling with an old humorist in the corner of 
a graveyard.” 

At these words Eedclyffe sent back his recollections, 
and, though doubtfully, began to be aware that this must 
needs be the young Englishman who had come to his 
guardian on such a singular errand as to search an old 
grave. It must be he, for it could be nobody else ; and, 
in truth, he had a sense of his identity, — which, however, 
did not express itself by anything that he could confidently 
remember in his looks, manner, or voice, — yet, if anything, 
it was most in the voice. But the image which, on search- 
ing, he found in his mind of a fresh-colored young English- 
man, with light hair and a frank, pleasant face, was terribly 


360 


APPENDIX. 


realized for the worse in this somewhat heavy figure, and 
coarser face, and heavier eye. In fact, there is a terrible 
difference between the mature Englishman and the young 
man who is not yet quite out of his blossom. His hair, 
too, was getting streaked and sprinkled with gray ; and, 
in short, there were evident marks of his having worked, 
and succeeded, and failed, and eaten and drunk, and being 
made largely of beef, ale, port, and sherry, and all the 
solidities of English life. 

I remember you now,” said Eedclyffe, extending his 
hand frankly ; and yet Mountford took it in so cold a way 
that he was immediately sorry that he had done it, and 
called up an extra portion of reserve to freeze the rest of 
the interview. He continued, coolly enough, “I remem- 
ber you, and something of your American errand, — which, 
indeed, has frequently been in my mind since. I hope 
you found the results of your voyage, in the way of dis- 
covery, sufficiently successful to justify so much trouble.’^ 

“You will remember,” said Mountford, “ that the grave 
proved quite unproductive. Yes, you will not have for- 
gotten it; for I well recollect how eagerly you listened, 
with that queer little girl, to my talk with the old gov- 
ernor, and how disappointed you seemed when you found 
that the grave was not to be opened. And yet, it is very 
odd. I failed in that mission ; and yet there are circum- 
stances that have led me to think that I ought to have 
succeeded better, — that some other person has really suc- 
ceeded better.” 

Eedclyffe was silent ; but he remembered the strange 
old silver key, and how he had kept it secret, and the 
doubts that had troubled his mind then and long after- 
wards, whether he ought not to have found means to con- 


APPENDIX, 


361 


vey it to the stranger, and ask whether that was what he 
sought. And now here was that same doubt and question 
coming up again, and he found himself quite as little able 
to solve it as he had been twenty years ago. Indeed, with 
the views that had come up since, it behooved him to be 
cautious, until he knew both the man and the circum- 
stances. 

‘‘You are probably aware,’’ continued Mountford, — “for 
I understand you have been some time in this neighbor- 
hood, — that there is a pretended claim, a contesting claim, 
to the present possession of the estate of Braithwaite, and a 
long dormant title. Possibly — who knows h — you your- 
self might have a claim to one or the other. Would not 
that be a singular coincidence 1 Have you ever had the 
curiosity to investigate your parentage with a view to this 
point h ” 

“ The title,” replied Eedclyffe, “ ought not to be a very 
strong consideration with an American. One of us would 
be ashamed, I verily^ believe, to assume any distinction, 
except such as may be supposed to indicate personal, not 
hereditary merit. We have in some measure, I think, 
lost the feeling of the past, and even of the future, as re- 
gards our own lines of descent ; and even as to wealth, it 
seems to me that the idea of heaping up a pile of gold, or 
accumulating a broad estate for our children and remoter 
descendants, is dying out. We wish to enjoy the fulness 
of our success in life ourselves, and leave to those who de- 
scend from us the task of providing for themselves. This 
tendency is seen in our lavish expenditure, and the whole 
arrangement of our lives ; and it is slowly — yet not very 
slowly, either — ejffecting a change in the whole economy 
of American life.” 


362 


APPENDIX. 


Still,” rejoined Mr. Mountford, with a smile that Eed- 
clyffe fancied was dark and subtle, still, I should imagine 
that even an American might recall so much of hered- 
itary prejudice as to be sensible of some earthly advan- 
tages in the possession of an ancient title and hereditary 
estate like this. Personal distinction may suit you better, 
— to be an Ambassador by your own talent ; to have a 
future for yourself, involving the possibility of ranking 
(though it were only for four years) among the acknowl- 
edged sovereigns of the earth ; — this is very good. But if 
the silver key would open the shut up secret to-day, it 
might be possible that you would relinquish these advan- 
tages.” 

Before Eedclyffe could reply, (and, indeed, there seemed 
to be an allusion at the close of Mountford^s speech which, 
whether intended or not, he knew not how to reply to,) a 
young lady entered the hall, whom he was at no loss, by the 
colored light of a painted window that fell upon her, trans- 
lating her out of the common daylight, to recognize as the 
relative of the pensioner. She seemed to have come to 
give her fanciful superintendence to some of the decora- 
tions of the hall ; such as required woman’s taste, rather 
than the sturdy English judgment and antiquarian knowl- 
edge of the Warden. Slowly following after her came the 
pensioner himself, leaning on his staff and looking up at 
the old roof and around him with a benign composure, and 
himself a fitting figure by his antique and venerable ap- 
pearance to walk in that old hall. 

Ah ! ” said Mountford, to Eedclyffe’s surprise, “ here 
is an acquaintance — two acquaintances of mine.” 

He moved along the hall to accost them ; and as he ap- 
peared to expect that Eedclyffe would still keep him com- 


APPENDIX. 


363 


pany, and as the latter had no reason for not doing so, 
they both advanced to the pensioner, who was now lean- 
ing on the young woman’s arm. The incident, too, was 
not unacceptable to the American, as promising to bring 
him into a more available relation with her — whom he 
half fancied to be his old American acquaintance — than 
he had yet succeeded in obtaining. 

“Well, my old friend,” said Mountford, after bowing 
with a certain measured respect to the young woman, 
“ how wears life with you ? Eather, perhaps, it does not 
wear at all ; you being so well suited to the life around 
you, you grow by it like a lichen on a wall. I could fancy 
now that you have walked here for three hundred years, 
and remember when King James of blessed memory was 
entertained in this hall, and could marshal out all the 
ceremonies just as they were then.” 

“An old man,” said the pensioner, quietly, “grows 
dreamy as he wanes away ; and I, too, am sometimes at a 
loss to know whether I am living in the past or the pres- 
ent, or whereabouts in time I am, — or whether there is 
any time at all. But I should think it hardly worth while 
to call up one of my shifting dreams more than another.” 

“ I confess,” said Eedclyffe, “ I shall find it impossible 
to call up this scene — any of these scenes — hereafter, 
without the venerable figure of this, whom I may truly 
call my benefactor, among them. I fancy him among 
them from the foundation, — young then, but keeping 
just the equal step with their age and decay, — and still 
doing good and hospitable deeds to those who need 
them.” 

The old man seemed not to like to hear these remarks 
and expressions of gratitude from Mountford and the 


364 


APPENDIX. 


American ; at any rate, lie moved away with his slow and 
light motion of infirmity, but then came uneasily back, 
displaying a certain quiet restlessness, which Eedclyffe was 
sympathetic enough to perceive. ^Not so the sturdier, 
more heavily moulded Englishman, who continued to 
direct the conversation upon the pensioner, or at least to 
make him a part of it, thereby bringing out more of his 
strange characteristics. In truth, it is not quite easy for 
an Englishman to know how to adapt himself to the fine 
feelings of those below him in point of station, whatever 
gentlemanly deference he may have for his equals or supe- 
riors. 

“I should like now, father pensioner,” said he, ‘‘to 
know how many steps you may have taken in life before 
your path led into this hole, and whence your course 
started.” 

“ Do not let him speak thus to the old man,” said the 
young woman, in a low, earnest tone, to Eedclyfie. He 
was surprised and startled; it seemed like a voice that 
has spoken to his boyhood. 

Note 2. Author* s note. — “ Eedclyffe’s place is next to 
that of the proprietor at table.” 

Note 3. Author* s note. — “ Dwell upon the antique liv- 
eried servants somewhat.” 

Note 4. Author's note. — “ The rose-water must precede 
the toasts.” 

Note 5. Author's note. — “ The jollity of the Warden at 
the feast to be noticed ; and afterwards explain that he 
had drunk nothing.” 

Note 6. Author's note. — “ Mention the old silver snuff- 
box which I saw at the Liverpool Mayor’s dinner.” 


APPENDIX. 


365 


CHAPTER XX. 

Note 1. This is not the version of the story as indi- 
cated in the earlier portion of the romance. It is there 
implied that Elsie is the Doctor’s granddaughter, her 
mother having been the Doctor’s daughter, who was ruined 
by the then possessor of the Braithwaite estates, and who 
died in consequence. That the Doctor’s scheme of revenge 
was far deeper and more terrible than simply to oust the 
family from its possessions, will appear further on. 

Note 2. The foregoing passage was evidently experi- 
mental, and the author expresses his estimate of its value 
in the following words, — What unimaginable nonsense !” 
He then goes on to make the following memoranda as to 
the plot. It should be remembered, however, that all 
this part of the romance was written before the American 
part. 

‘‘ Half of a secret is preserved in England ; that is to 
say, in the particular part of the mansion in which an old 
coffer is hidden ; the other part is carried to America. One 
key of an elaborate lock is retained in England, among 
some old curiosities of forgotten purpose ; the other is the 
silver key that Redclyffe found beside the grave. A treas- 
ure of gold is what they expect ; they find a treasure of 
golden locks. This lady, the beloved of the Bloody Foot- 
step, had been murdered and hidden in the coffer on ac- 
count of jealousy. Elsie must know the baselessness of 
Redclyffe’s claims, and be loath to tell him, because she sees 
that he is so much interested in them. She has a paper 
of the old Doctor’s revealing the whole plot, — a death-bed 
confession ; Redclyffe having been absent at the time.” 

The reader will recollect that this latter suggestion was 


366 


APPENDIX. 


not adopted ; there was no deatli-bed confession. As re- 
gards the coffer full of golden locks, it was suggested by 
an incident recorded in the “English Note-Books,’’ 1854. 
“ The grandmother of Mrs. O’Sullivan died fifty years ago, 
at the age of twenty-eight. She had great personal charms, 
and among them a head of beautiful chestnut hair. After 
her burial in a family tomb, the coffin of one of her children 
was laid on her own, so that the lid seems to have decayed, 
or been broken from this cause ; at any rate, this was the 
case when the tomb was opened, about a year ago. The 
grandmother’s coffin was then found to be filled with beau- 
tiful, glossy, living chestnut ringlets, into which her whole 
substance seems to have been transformed, for there was 
nothing else but these shining curls, the growth of half a 
century, in the tomb. An old man, with a ringlet of his 
youthful mistress treasured in his heart, might be supposed 
to witness this wonderful thing.” 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

Note 1. In a study of the plot, too long to insert here, 
this new character of the steward is introduced and de- 
scribed. It must suffice to say, in this place, that he was 
intimately connected with Dr. Grimshawe, who had resus- 
citated him after he had been hanged, and had thus gained 
his gratitude and secured his implicit obedience to his 
wishes, even twenty years after his (Grimshawe’s) death. 
The use the Doctor made of him was to establish him in 
Braithwaite Hall as the perpetual confidential servant of 
the owners thereof. Of course, the latter are not aware 


APPENDIX. 


367 


that the steward is acting in Grimshawe’s interest, and 
therefore in deadly opposition to their own. Precisely 
what the steward’s mission in life was, will appear here- 
after. 

The study above alluded to, with others, amounting to 
about a hundred pages, will be published as a supplement 
to a future edition of this work. 


CHAPTEK XXIY. 

Note 1. Author's note. — Eedclyffe lies in a dreamy 
state, thinking fantastically, as if he were one of the seven 
sleepers. He does not yet open his eyes, but lies there in 
a maze.” 

Note 2. Author's note. — Eedclyffe must look at the 
old man quietly and dreamily, and without surprise, for a 
long while.” 

Note 3. Presumably the true name of Doctor Grim- 
shawe. 

Note 4. This mysterious prisoner. Sir Edward Eed- 
clyffe, is not, of course, the Sir Edward who founded the 
Hospital, but a descendant of that man, who ruined Doctor 
Grimsh awe’s daughter, and is the father of Elsie. He had 
been confined in this chamber, by the Doctor’s contrivance, 
ever since, Omskirk being his jailer, as is foreshadowed in 
Chapter XL He has been kept in the belief that he killed 
Grimshawe, in a struggle that took place between them ; 
and that his confinement in the secret chamber is volun- 
tary on his own part, — a measure of precaution to prevent 
arrest and execution for murder. In this miserable delu- 


368 


APPENDIX. 


sion he has cowered there for five and thirty years. This, 
and various other dusky points, are partly elucidated in the 
notes hereafter to he appended to this volume. 

— ♦ — 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Note 1. At this point, the author, for what reason I 
will not venture to surmise, chooses to append this gloss : 

Buhhle-and-Squeak ! ” 

Note 2. Author^ s note, — They found him in the hall, 
about to go out.” 

Note 3. Elsie appears to have joined the party. 


THE END. 


University Press : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 


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